


2.08 - A Day (And Then Some) at the Spa

by MusicalLuna



Category: Psych
Genre: Angst, Apologies, Boundaries, Case Fic, Gen, Interpersonal Conflict, Making Up, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Language, Originally Posted on Psychfic, Poisoning, Spa Treatments, Stress, Virtual Season/Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-09
Updated: 2008-12-19
Packaged: 2019-03-13 07:42:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 30,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13565964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: After their big fight, Shawn has to do something to smooth things over with Gus and what better way than a day at the spa?But oh, the best laid plans of men and psychics...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 02/03/18 AN: So this was written before I learned about a lot of things like ableism and internalized sexism and privilege and I know that instances of that ignorance are still present in this fic. I don't want to alter the original fic because I feel like to do so is to pretend I never held these wrong beliefs and that's definitely not true. It's something I'm still working on. So just be aware that there are things in this fic that I'm not proud of, but I'm leaving it as it was originally written.

 

1987

Shawn exited the school, dragging his backpack behind him, shoulders hunched and head hanging down as he made his way across the school yard to the road where Henry waited in his cruiser. The picture presented was the very definition of 'dejected'.

He was also, notably, alone in his misery, his ever-faithful partner-in-crime missing from his side.

Well now this was unusual, Henry thought as he waited and watched. He scanned the schoolyard, wondering if Gus had fallen ill and been picked up earlier.

Shawn's glum parade ended on the sidewalk and Henry gave up the search for the moment to look at him. A tug to open the back door and Shawn slid in, his book bag released to the floor, Shawn draped morosely across the seat. He was facing forward, but otherwise almost laying flat out, limbs left to sit where they'd landed in the slumped sprawl that had been Shawn's entrance. His fog of depression did not prevent him from buckling in, but he offered no greeting or explanation for his very uncharacteristic mood.

Henry watched him in the rearview mirror for a moment, listened to the weighty sigh of emotional surrender to whatever fate might have in store, and tilted his head.

“Shawn?”

There was no immediate response.

Annoyance was Henry's first reaction, but a second's thought clued him into the fact that Shawn wasn't ignoring him. He was just that deeply entrenched in his abject pathos.

“Shawn,” Henry repeated, adding volume to pierce the veil of melancholy surrounding his son.

Hazel eyes flicked upwards from under bangs that needed trimming.

“What?”

It wasn't challenging so much as resigned and Henry's eyebrows arched upwards. He hadn't seen Shawn this down in the dumps since Chairman Meow's, uh, _departure_.

“Okay,” Henry said, turning off the engine and shifting in his seat so he could rest an arm on the seat back and more fully face his audience. “What's wrong?”

Shawn's eyes went back to his knees and he moved his shoulders in a minute shrug.

“Nothing.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

“Where's Gus?”

Shawn all but flinched and Henry winced. Flinching at a best friend's name was never a good sign.

“What happened?”

“Nothing,” Shawn repeated, but it was almost a whisper and Henry had the horrible feeling that tears weren't far behind.

He knew Gus hadn't been kidnapped or killed or otherwise ripped painfully from Shawn's life. Henry would have heard the call over the radio.

Which meant that it was something between Shawn and Gus.

“Does Gus have a ride home?” Priorities had to be taken care of and it was Henry's responsibility to make sure that Gus made it home safely today as it was his turn to drive the boys home.

Shawn nodded and a single tear slipped out as he sniffled.

“Oh hell,” Henry cursed, turning to face forward again. He was tempted to drive home and let Maddie deal with this, but then he remembered that she was assisting the department on a high-profile case and wouldn't be home until after dinner tonight.

Damn it all.

Henry sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as regular sniffles continued to issue from the back seat.

“Shawn, what happened?”

“Nothing,” Shawn repeated.

“Damn it, Shawn, you're . . .” He couldn't bring himself to say it so he took a different, less specific approach. “This is not _nothing_. Now spill.”

Henry was on the verge of calling it quits and heading down to the station when a soft, “Gus is never going to speak to me again,” finally broke the silence.

Henry frowned and tuned back around. “What? Why?”

Shawn shrugged again, wiping at his face unsuccessfully.

“Shawn, Gus is your best friend. You're practically attached at the hip. Hell, if it wasn't for the fact that he's black and you're white, people would think you were brothers. Some people probably do anyway. Now what did you do that's so bad that it makes you think that Gus is never going to speak to you again?”

Shawn frowned, eyes focusing on Henry from under brows lowered in a scowl. “What makes you think it was _me?_ ” he asked grumpily.

Henry almost sighed in relief. If Shawn was grumpy then the tears were over with.

“Because Gus is not the kind of kid to stop talking to his best friend for no reason at all. And since Gus isn't speaking to _you_ that implies that _you_ were the cause of the rift. So, what did you do?”

Shawn scowled for another long moment while he digested the logic presented to him.

Then he sighed, face relaxing, voice switching back to mopey gloom. “I don't know what I did.”

“Come on, Shawn.”

“No really, Dad!” Shawn protested, sitting forward, hands gripping the seat back in front of him. “I don't know! We were at recess and I asked him to come play dodgeball because we needed to beat Danny Mickelson's team and he just got all grumpy and said no and now he's not talking to me!”

And suddenly it was all clear.

“I see,” Henry said. “Shawn, when you _asked_ Gus to come play dodgeball what was he doing?”

Shawn shrugged. “I don't know. Reading or something boring probably.”

“Close your eyes.”

Shawn exhaled a put-upon groan. “Daaad!”

“Shawn.”

Shawn complied, though it was not happily.

“Okay. Now what was Gus doing when you asked him to play with you?”

Shawn's face scrunched up in concentration.

“Reading.”

“What was he reading?”

“Um . . . Boxcar children.”

“Was he enjoying it?”

“Yeah,” Shawn said, not having to think about that one. Gus _loved_ the Boxcar children. The one he'd had today was actually one he'd read already.

“And when you _asked_ him to play, what did he say?”

“Um . . . No?”

“What did you do then?”

Shawn opened his eyes and blinked, not understanding the question.

“Did you let him go back to his book?” Henry clarified.

Shawn looked down, understanding slowly beginning to creep in. “Not really. But we really needed him, Dad! Danny Mickelson's team is-”

Henry held up a hand to stop the explanation.

“Shawn, you weren't listening to him. That's why Gus is mad at you.”

“But-”

“How would you feel if he ignored you?”

Shawn deflated back into his boneless splay over the seat. “He did that. For all the rest of recess. And class all afternoon. And then he called his mom to come pick him up.”

Henry nodded. ”And how did it feel?”

“It sucked.”

“So now that you know what's wrong, what are you going to do about it?”

Shawn pondered this for a second. “Wait for him to forget he's mad at me?”

Henry shrugged and faced forward, turning on the car. “Well if you're willing to wait, then I guess that's one way to handle this.”

Shawn sighed dramatically. “I don't _wanna_ wait, but what else can I do?”

“Well,” Henry said as he checked his mirrors and pulled away from the curb, “you could try apologizing. And in the future, pay attention to Gus.”

Shawn repeated the sigh. That sounded like it sucked as much as waiting until Gus forgot he was mad.

~ * * * ~

Present Day

Gus hadn’t spoken to him in over a week.

True, he had spent the first three days after their Big Fight avoiding the Psych office on the off chance that he might encounter him there, pretending nothing had happened and hadn’t braved calling him until the end of the fourth day, but that was beside the point. Gus still hadn’t answered any of _those_ calls, and there had been a considerate amount. The morning (okay, okay, fine, _afternoon_ ) of the fifth day he’d started pestering Juliet for advice. Thus far she’d been busy and generally unhelpful. Today, however, she was trapped in the station doing paperwork, and he planned on being relentless.

“Jules!”

Lassiter groaned, loudly. “Spencer, go away. Figure out how to make up with your boyfriend on your own. This isn’t O’Hara’s problem, and it sure as hell isn’t mine and I want nothing to do with it.”

Shawn pouted, lofting the coffees he’d brought in the inevitable event of this kind of reception. “You won’t even help me for a Triple Chocolate Grande Mocha with a nice, big dollop of whipped cream?”

Lassiter’s eyes flicked between the dark red coffee cup and Shawn’s face, obviously weighing the delectable treat in his hand against having to suffer through his irritating questions. His lip curled and he snatched the coffee out of his hand, skulking off toward his desk. “Just stay away from me!”

“Traitor!” Juliet called after him, glaring.

Shawn grinned ingratiatingly and held up the remaining cup. “Piña colada white mocha for you.”

She eyed him for a moment longer and then plucked the cup out of his grasp. “Fine. Let’s talk.” She distributed the pile of files into a basket and then sat down, looking up at him expectantly.

“Right.” He coughed, shifting awkwardly on his heels. When he was silent for another long moment, Juliet rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her coffee.

“While you think about that, I’m going to do some work. Let me know when you’re ready to get over yourself,” she said, starting to sift through the mountain of paperwork on her desk. At his desk Lassiter snorted and Shawn moved closer to Juliet’s desk, a flush creeping up his cheeks.

“Hey now. That’s not very helpful, Jules. I come to you looking for _guidance_.”

“Why don’t you ask the spirits?” Lassiter cut in, a nasty smirk on his face.

Shawn's mouth opened to respond to that but Juliet wasn't interested in cleaning up blood so she used those lovely confrontation diffusion skills they taught at the academy and broke in before it could escalate.

Looking up at the psychic, gaze sharp, she said, “Then ask for it, Shawn. Stop trying to get what you want without doing what you need to.”

Shawn shot a glance at Lassiter and moved even closer, bending and looking her in the eye. “Please. Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

She scrutinized his face for a moment before standing up and brushing past him. “Come on.” He followed quickly after her, purposely avoiding looking over at Lassiter’s desk. The moment they walked out the front doors of the station onto the steps Juliet looked at him, crossed her arms, and said, “All right, now talk, Shawn.”

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and started down onto the sidewalk, his gaze asking her to follow, cool shadows sliding over his figure. “Gee, Jules, I kinda like this domineering thing you’ve got going on.”

She stopped abruptly, body turning back toward the station. “Don’t make me go back inside, Shawn.”

“Okay, okay, sorry,” he said, catching her by the arm. “Just—” He sighed heavily, raking his hands through his hair. Why was she making this so difficult? “I guess I screwed up.”

Juliet’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline. “You _guess?_ ”

His shoulders hunched, hands springing up defensively. “Okay! I screwed up. I really, really screwed up. Gus is pissed at me for the first time in…I don’t know, _years_ , and I think he might actually _take_ this job in New England. New England! I can’t let him—”

“All right, stop right there. _That_ is the kind of thinking that’s gotten you in trouble, Shawn,” she cut in. “First off, if Gus moves to New England it’s not going to be ‘because of you.’ Secondly, you trying to control his life and interfering with his priorities is what got you in this mess in the first place.”

“That’s what _I_ don’t get,” Shawn shot back, frustration lacing his voice. “Why is that job his priority? Psych is doing well enough for both of us! He doesn’t _have_ to keep that lameass boring job!”

Juliet sighed, pulling her sunglasses down over her eyes as they emerged from beneath the shade of the trees and into the sunlight. “Shawn, most people can’t live the way you do. There’s comfort in a boring job. Just because you don’t understand and don’t live the way he does doesn’t mean that you can disregard his concerns. Do you hear what I’m telling you?”

Shawn kicked sullenly at the sidewalk. “All I wanted was some advice, Jules, not a character study. If I wanted to get a lecture on my unreliability I would have gone to see my Dad.”

Juliet caught him by the arm, pulling him to a stop as she tugged off her sunglasses. “Don’t, Shawn. Don’t do that. In order to solve the problem you need to be able to see what the problem is. I’m sorry if that’s more reality than you’re willing to deal with, but if you want to fix things between you and Gus you have to be able to see where he’s coming from, okay? That means you actually have to listen to what he’s telling you, because knowing Gus, he’s told you _exactly_ what the problem is. Now. What did he say to you during the fight?”

Grudgingly, and because her hand was still clamped around his arm, her blue eyes pinning him in place, he tried to remember. His hand flexed as he resisted the urge to bring it to his temple and he closed his eyes.

“He said…he said that I don’t listen to him. That I don’t take him seriously and that I…ignore his feelings and obligations in favor of doing what I want to do. I don’t respect him or his job and I…I care more about the cases than I do him.” Shawn deflated; it hurt to remember that conversation. He’d heard it the first time—it’d been hard not to—but he’d almost blocked it out in a way at the time. He hadn’t wanted to hear it, hadn’t wanted to believe it. Remembering what had been said and really hearing the words was just…

“Shawn.” Juliet’s hand squeezed his arm gently and he opened his eyes, swallowing against the sudden tautness of his throat.

“God, I’m such an asshole,” he mumbled.

“You were,” Juliet corrected him, her expression sympathetic for the first time. “You’re going to fix it now.”

“Fix it, right.” He swallowed again, slipping out of her grasp and looking away toward the street, arms crossing over his chest. “So what do I do?”

She put a hand to his back, gently getting him walking again. “Well, first things first, you have to get him to talk to you again. I think the best way to do that would be via phone. You want to let him do this on his terms. So call him and tell him you’re sorry and that you’ve realized what a jerk you’ve been being and that you want to make it up to him. Tell him you want it to be on his terms though and ask him to call you when he feels up to it.”

“But I’ve _done_ that,” Shawn protested. “He still won’t talk to me!”

Juliet shook her head. “No, you’ve gone through the motions. Gus is perceptive enough to know when he’s getting a real apology and an apology that’s just supposed to be the quick-fix band-aid on his gaping wound. You’re actually feeling it for real now, and that will come through. Trust me.”

Shawn sighed and nodded. “Okay, apologize and tell him I want to make up for it. Then what?”

Juliet smiled and nudged him with her elbow. “Then you make it up to him.”

~ * * * ~

“I am such an idiot!”

Six hours later found Shawn pacing the length of the Psych office, clenching the squeezy frog from his desk rapidly in his right hand, hair standing on end from the number of times he’d run his hands through it.

“What the hell is wrong with me? Acting like some fourteen-year-old girl waiting for her first boyfriend to call? UGH.” He chucked the frog across the room and it bounced off of the wall behind Gus’ desk, hitting his desk lamp with a clang before tumbling to the floor at his feet. He glowered at it. “This is because I asked a woman for advice about man problems isn’t it? I’m acting like a girl because this is what a girl would do. God, I am such an _idiot!_ ”

“You have your moments.”

Shawn jerked to attention, eyes snapping toward the doorway. Gus stood there, still dressed in his work clothes, arms crossed loosely, feet at attention and, for the first time in his life, Shawn didn’t know what to say to his best friend. “Gus,” was what finally slipped free. His heart throbbed in his chest in an almost panicky way, his throat slowly going dry.

“I got your message,” Gus said, stepping inside. His eyes drifted around the room and Shawn’s arms came up awkwardly, crossing over his chest.

“Oh, like you didn’t get the first twenty-si—” He cut off with a small, strangled noise, hands clenching around his arms and lips going white as he pinched them together. “Sorry. That’s… Good, that’s good. I’m glad you decided to—” He gestured awkwardly between the two of them. “—you know.”

Gus nodded, adjusting the lamp on his desk back into place and glancing at him. Shawn grimaced. “Sorry. Accident. I was—” He waved a hand at the frog and shrugged sheepishly. “Nerves.” Gus looked back down at the desk, adjusting the pad of paper and then the pencil holder and then a figurine.

“So you get why I was angry now?” he finally asked.

Shawn flinched. “Yes. And…” His shoulders hunched. “You had every right.” Gus’ eyebrows rose in his direction but Shawn was finally talking and he knew if he stopped now it would probably never come out. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you second to the cases. I don’t get your attachment to the pharmaceuticals job but that’s no reason for me to undermine it or to ignore the fact that it’s important to you. If it’s…if it’s important to you it should be important to me. So I’m sorry. I’ve been acting like an ass and I’m sorry.” He sucked in a shaky breath and looked up, meeting Gus’ eyes. “You’re my best friend, dude. I respect you more probably than anyone in the world and I’m sorry I was treating you like crap. Let me try to make up for it.”

“Thank you,” Gus said quietly. “I appreciate that.”

They were quiet for a long moment, not looking at one another, the lights of a car sending sliding bars of light across the walls. Shawn coughed and said, “So, uh. Jerk chicken?”

A smile cracked on Gus’s face. “You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s arms came down, a breath of relief slipping out. “Your car?”

“Please, Shawn. Like I’m going to ride your motorcycle.”

Shawn grinned, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair and sliding it on. “Someday, Gus.”

“Not in this lifetime,” he said. Shawn held out an envelope offhandedly as he approached and Gus raised an eyebrow, accepting it with care. “What’s this?”

He shrugged, checking to see if his keys were in his pocket. “Gotta start somewhere.”

Gus tucked the envelope inside his coat with a small smile and as Shawn stepped outside the office, said casually, “Juliet helped you with this, didn’t she?”

Shawn grinned sheepishly. “That obvious?” He put his hand in his pocket, digging around for his phone. “Hey, actually, give me five minutes and I’ll meet you in the car, okay?”

Gus nodded. “Sure.”

When he had started toward the car, Shawn dialed his number three speed dial and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Hello?”

“It worked,” he said, glancing out the front window. “You’re a genius and a scholar and not a gentlemen but I seriously owe you one, Jules.”

Juliet was smiling when she said, “So you two are finally talking again?”

“We’re going out for jerk chicken. I’d invite you, but, you know. It would be awkward to involve you in the kiss and make up part of our lives together,” he said, fiddling with a loose thread on the hem of his jacket cuff. “But I’d be glad to take you to dinner some other time—”

“Shawn,” Juliet cut him off gently. “I don’t think so. But you’re welcome.”

“It would be purely out of gratitude, Jules, pinky swear!” he said, glancing toward Gus to see him bobbing his head along with what he guessed was some un-head-bobbable form of music. He smiled.

“No, Shawn. Have a good time with Gus. Don’t do anything stupid. I’ll talk to you later.”

He sighed theatrically and said, “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to you later.” He paused for just a second and then added quietly, “I mean it though, Jules. I owe you.”

She smiled. “Good night, Shawn.”

~ * * * ~

A day and a half later, Gus sighed as Shawn ran ahead of him outside the entrance to Montello Spa, grabbed the door and swung it open with a deep bow. Shawn had insisted on accompanying him for the treatment "to make sure everything was up to par”. As soon as he was inside, Shawn zipped ahead again, Gus trailing along behind him toward the reception desk.

“Appointment for Napoleon Stone,” he told the brunette behind the desk.

“All right, someone will be with you shortly, Mr. Stone,” she said, gesturing toward the waiting area.

“Shawn!” Gus whispered fiercely as they moved away from the desk, “Couldn’t you have just used my name instead of some weird alias?”

Shawn tipped his head back, whispering over his shoulder, “Gus, you’re getting the celebrity treatment. You need an alias to preserve your privacy! You deserve it!”

Gus straightened a little, smoothing a hand over his shirt. “You’re right. I am.”

“Yeah, that’s right buddy,” Shawn said, clapping a hand to his shoulder.

Giving him a look out of the corner of his eye, Gus said, “But next time I want a cooler alias. Napoleon, Shawn? Really?”

“Hey, it was good enough for Denzel.” He shrugged casually.

Gus frowned. “Denzel? You lie.”

“Gus, I’m offended. I would never lie about _Denzel_.”

Suspiciously, Gus asked, “What movie?”

“ _Heart Condition_. From 1990,” Shawn told him promptly.

Gus punched him in the arm. “Nobody remembers that movie, Shawn! If you’re going to pick an alias, pick a good one!”

“Ow! Guus—”

A woman with caramel colored skin leaned out of the etched glass door next to the reception desk and flashed a gleaming white smile at them. “Mr. Stone?”

Gus’ eyebrows rose and Shawn answered quickly, “Yes, this is him. Take good care of him okay? Don’t use eucalyptus, he’s allergic, and make sure you give him plenty of time to change, he likes to take his time.”

“I’m not allergic, Shawn!” Gus hissed.

“Yeah, but you don’t like the smell,” Shawn hissed back. “They won’t ignore it if they think it might land you in the hospital!” He turned back to the woman with a broad smile. “Mr. Stone would also like chamomile and jasmine tea. And make sure nothing’s too hot, ninety-six degrees is—”

“Thank you, Shawn,” Gus grit and moved forward, flashing his best smile at the woman. “I’m sure everything will be perfect.”

She smiled and stepped back to open the door to allow him through. “We’ll take very good care of you, Mr. Stone.”

“Enjoy, buddy!” Shawn called. Gus shot him one last Look before the door swung shut behind him.

Shawn sighed and turned back around to scrutinize the small waiting room. There were exactly four chairs, one small side table, and three magazines, all of them copies of _WE_. Clearly these people didn’t keep anyone actually _waiting_ in the waiting room. Or if they did, they were particularly insidious in trying to maximize the amount of tension their clients were experiencing before their appointments. This was going to make occupying himself for two hours difficult at best.

Behind him, the door chimed softly and he turned. His eyebrows perked up as a pretty girl with a slightly frizzy red plait hanging over her shoulder walked in, a large box clutched in her arms. The Sharpie scrawl on the side identified it as Batch 26-A-4009, Stimulating Soul Scrub and Soothing Spine Smoother. His eyebrows arched at the excessive alliteration—and the fact that those two descriptions seemed to be mutually exclusive—but he immediately moved in to help. Just because she had to carry it didn't mean she'd named whatever was inside. “Whoa, you need help with that?”

She grinned at him and said breathlessly, “Thanks, but—”

“Stefanie!” The receptionist stood up, gesturing the woman forward. “You’re here, great. You can just take them right back.”

Stefanie grinned again and winked at him. “Thanks anyway.”

Shawn smiled and watched as she disappeared through the etched door. That smile only grew when his gaze landed on the receptionist as she reseated herself behind the desk.

He leaned casually on the counter and after a surreptitious glance at her name placard, said, “So, Maggie. I don’t suppose you have any free trials or anything like that.”

She glanced up at him, obviously unimpressed and leaned forward lowering her voice. “Number one; that was pathetic, even for someone like you. Number two; you just hit on another woman right in front of me. Are you completely dense?”

Shawn assumed an expression of mock outrage. “I did no such thing. I would never even think about hitting a woman. My parents raised me better than that.”

That managed to pry a smile out of her—almost.

“Either way, I’m not interested in someone who so obviously lacks the ability or desire to commit,” she said and flashed him a sardonic smile.

“I find that assertion totally and completely o…ffen…si…Jules? Lassie?” Shawn stared as the pair of detectives joined him at the reception desk faces fixed into professionally grim expressions. “What are you doing here?”

Lassiter scowled at him. “What are _you_ doing here? Spirits send you some vibrations a little late in the game?”

Shawn frowned. “Hey, I resent that remark, and I’m not even one-hundred percent sure what you’re talking about. I happen to be here for Gus.” Pursing his lips, he glanced between the two of them and then added, “So seriously, what’s going on?"

When Lassiter deliberately turned to the receptionist and said brusquely, “Were you working October tenth, fourteenth, or seventeenth?”

Juliet sighed and looked at Shawn. “We’re investigating a series of suspicious illnesses from this spa and Day-Glow Spa not far from here,” she explained. “Six people have gone to the emergency room from these places in the last month.”

Shawn was immediately alarmed. “Clients?”

Juliet shook her head, holding out a hand. “No, some of the masseurs.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Jeez, Jules. Gus would kill me if I sent him to a place where the clients were getting sick. Come to think of it, he would probably kill me if he found out some of the masseurs had been getting sick…”

“I’m sorry, I can’t allow you to do that,” Maggie said, her voice suddenly sharpening. “We have several clients in the middle of sessions right now.”

Lassiter glared at her, pulling his badge off his belt and waggling it in her face. “This shiny hunk of metal says _I don’t care_. I want to speak to the masseurs. _Now_.”

Maggie stood, her jaw clenching. “Let me find Michelle, the owner. You can take it up with her.”

“Thank you,” Lassiter retorted. “I will.”

Juliet shot her partner a dirty look as the receptionist disappeared through the etched door. “Carlton.”

“What?” he said defensively. “She was giving me lip!”

She rolled her eyes. “Carlton.”

“Stop saying my name like that, O’Hara. I’m doing the job and I’m doing it my way. You don’t like it, maybe you should focus a little more so you can impose your will on me.” He sent a pointed look directly at Shawn and Juliet’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Are you implying that—”

“Excuse me, can I help you detectives?” An older woman preceded Maggie out of the back, crisply and cleanly dressed in a lavender skirt suit, her pale gray eyes sharp and shrewd. The only thing about her that detracted from the polished professional look was the gaudy pendant hanging from a silver chain around her neck. It was huge and ornate and belonged in another century entirely. If not in a jeweler's smelting pot somewhere.

“Yeah,” Lassiter said, “We need to—”

Juliet flashed one of her sweetest smiles at the woman and said, “I’m sorry. My name is Detective Juliet O’Hara and this is my partner, Detective Carlton Lassiter. We’re investigating the illnesses of your masseurs.”

Michelle nodded and said, “That’s very good. I want to know what happened to my people and who, if anyone, is responsible. This is a terrible thing to have happen.”

Shawn cut in with a raised hand. “Excuse me, sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt this whole wonderful Q & A thing you’ve got going on, but could someone fill me in? _What_ illnesses?”

Michelle’s gaze cut up and down him, once, twice, stridently. “Who is this?”

Lassiter grimaced, huffing out a sigh and Juliet explained indulgently, “This is Shawn Spencer. He works with the department on occasion as a consultant but he is currently not working—he’s here with a friend.” She added the last part with a pointed look at him.

Shawn ignored it. “I’m psychic,” he added breezily. “This case intrigues me because I didn’t pick up anything about any illnesses or crime centering around your business when I contacted you to get my friend his appointment.”

A snort from Lassiter was ignored as Michelle scrutinized Shawn once more, even more closely this time. “Psychic, you say. Hm. In any case, what the detectives are here inquiring about is the illness of three of my masseurs, all of whom fell ill within a few days of one another. So ill that they found themselves in the ER.” Her stern expression softened momentarily into one of concern as she added, “One of my most popular masseurs, Westley, is still in the ICU. I want, no, _need_ to know what’s happening to my people.”

“Then we need to speak to all of your employees,” Lassiter told her.

With an apologetic expression, Juliet added, “The sooner the better, ma’am.”

Michelle sighed and nodded, moving toward the reception desk. “All right, if you think it’s necessary. Maggie, we’ll need to draw up some certificates for the clients.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Maggie said, sitting and starting to pull things up on the computer.

Shawn’s eyes widened as Lassiter and Juliet headed for the door and he immediately intercepted them, blocking the door. “Wait, wait, you’re just going to barge in there? While these people are in the middle of massages? Naked and vulnerable?”

“Spencer,” Lassiter growled.

Juliet’s gaze softened. “Shawn.” She caught his arm, trying to gently direct him out of the way and he resisted, planting his feet even more firmly.

“You can’t go back there, Jules,” he said, gaze suddenly pleading. “Not yet. Come on. An hour and a half. Would an hour and a half kill you? Anyone else? I doubt it. You can wait, right?”

“Spencer, get the hell out of the way or so help me—”

Shawn pressed up against the door as Lassiter tried to pull it open, shutting it with a sharp bang. “Lassie, please! Seriously, you can’t do this guys. Gus will freak. An hour and a half, that’s all. Just an hour and a half,” he pleaded, focusing the majority of his puppy-dog face on Juliet.

She shook her head, looking as though it pained her to have to tell him no. “Shawn, I’m sorry. I understand that this isn’t a great time for this to happen with everything that’s going on between you two, but this is a police investigation and time is of the utmost importance. You know this.”

“But _Jules_ ,” he pled as Lassiter yanked on his arm, forcefully dragging him away from the door. “This is the future of my friendship with Gus we’re talking about! You’ll be dooming twenty-five years of manlove!”

“I’m sorry, Shawn. You’ll just have to explain to him what happened,” she said, firm but apologetic. “Now move.”

“Or,” Lassiter said brightly, reaching for his belt. “You can continue to not move, thus impeding an official police investigation and I can arrest you!”

The grin that accompanied Lassiter's presentation of his handcuffs had Shawn giving him a wary, sweeping glance.

“Jules-”

“I'm sorry, Shawn, but technically, he's right.” Lassiter shot her a look for her phrasing which she ignored. “Please don't give him a reason.”

He groaned like a man dying and finally allowed Lassiter to haul him away from the door, the detective looking quite disappointed as he sent Shawn stumbling into the center of the room. As they disappeared into the back he moaned, “Gus is going to _kill_ me.”

~ * * * ~

"Shawn! What the heck is going on!?" Shawn flinched at the sound of Gus voice and turned to see him storming out of the back room wearing just a small towel wrapped around his waist, fist clutched at where the corners met over his thigh. A few other patrons in towels followed meekly behind him, gazes avoiding everyone and anyone. "I thought you said there were no cases!"

Shawn let out a heavy sigh, running his hands up his face before putting his hands together in front of him and meeting Gus’ eyes. "Gus. Dude. There is no case. I have nothing to do this. I swear on the grave of Chairman Meow. This is all Lassie and Jules."

"Your dad got rid of Chairman Meow before _she_ died, Shawn,” Gus said, attempted to cross his arms and nearly lost the towel around his waist. He glared at Shawn as though it were his fault.

“So?” Shawn argued. “Chair _woman_ Meow would still have a grave by now!”

“Unless she was cremated,” he shot back.

Shawn’s jaw dropped. “Gus!”

“Stop it, Shawn!” Gus said, cutting him off with a jab of his finger. “Stop changing the subject! You said there was no case.”

"Dude, I had nothing to do with this,” Shawn said, expression sobering. “I had no idea they were going to be here, I swear. I haven’t even talked to Juliet since Tuesday! You can check my phone records.”

Gus glared over the top of his nose and Shawn did his best to stifle a laugh. Worried as he was it was hard to take a man in a towel barely large enough to cover his downstairs seriously. "You better not have, Shawn. You promised me. You promised me there would be no cases, no interference, none of the psychic stuff while I was doing this. You promised."

"I know, Gus," he insisted, nodding. "And I didn't, I swear. I had nothing to do with it. Okay? I'll get you another appointment. Somewhere better."

"Mm-hm," Gus gave him a critical up-and-down.

That was when Lassiter poked his head out of the back room, smirking, and said, “Hey, Spencer. I’m not going to wait all day for the spirits’ input. Move it or lose it.”

Shawn flinched as he felt the power of Gus’ glare increase ten levels.

Lassiter grinned smugly and disappeared.

“Call me when you’ve made the appointment, Shawn,” Gus said and then turned and stormed out.

~ * * * ~

Shawn was a little more than peeved when he joined the detectives in the back. “Dude, what the hell is your problem?”

Lassiter glanced up, an innocent expression plastered across his face. “What are you talking about? No problems here, Spencer.” Beside him, Juliet’s eyes narrowed and the curly haired masseuse they were talking to blinked at him.

“Who’s this?” she asked and for a split-second, Shawn’s anger vanished. She sounded like Betty Boop. And she had the same questionable taste in jewelry as the owner of the salon. It was a different color, but even someone unschooled in jewelry—not that Shawn was such a person thanks to a month working in a jewelry store in New Mexico-- could tell that it was made by the same . . . uh, jeweler. Someone needed to find the person responsible for those earrings and that necklace and put them behind bars where they couldn't hurt any more innocent bystanders.

“Carlton, what did you do?” Juliet demanded, her hands moving to her hips.

“I didn’t do anything!” he exclaimed, still maintaining the innocent expression.

“Gus is pissed off because he thinks I knew you guys were going to be here!” Shawn said, aiming the explanation at Juliet. “It was bad enough before Lassie came out and basically confirmed his suspicions!”

“Carlton!” Juliet exclaimed, a rebuke in her voice.

“Oh, come on,” Lassiter protested, finally breaking the façade. “He makes my life miserable all the time, it’s about time for a little payback!”

“Dude, you’re screwing around with my friendship. I’ve never done anything to mess with your personal life. Don’t screw with Gus,” he said, mouth thin. Lassiter continued to stare at him and he turned to Betty Boop.

“Nice earrings.”

She grinned shyly, brushing a finger along the bottom of the massive wire work dangling from her ear. “Thanks. Jewelry is one of my hobbies. I like working with my hands.” She rolled her eyes. “Probably obvious since I'm a masseuse.”

He nodded. “Uh huh. How long have you been dating Michelle? Month and a half? Two months?”

Betty Boop gawked at him, her eyes going wide. “How did you know that? We haven’t told anybody!”

Shawn waved it off. “Psychic. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a spa reservation I need to go make.”

~ * * * ~

A rare cloud cover had crept over Santa Barbara the next morning, bringing along with it a chilly edge to the air. Shawn leaned against the window frame in the middle of the Psych office, one hand tucked into the pocket of a red hoodie, the other holding the office phone to his ear.

“No. No, you can’t use eucalyptus,” he was saying. “Mr. Hobbes is highly allergic. The best scents would be lavender or maybe vanilla. Yeah. Peppermint would be acceptable. He likes Jasmine and chamomile tea and if you have honey—excellent. That’s perfect.” There was a pause as Shawn listened to the person on the other end of the line and then: “Fantastic. Yes. Thank you, you too.” He glanced up as the front door of the office opened, recognizing Gus’ sound without being able to explain exactly how.

Punching the END button on the phone, he spread his hands. “Gus! I wasn’t expecting you in today!”

A frown flickered across Gus’ face as he searched for him. “Yeah, I forgot a disk I need in my desk.” He paused in the second doorway, giving Shawn another suspicious once over. “What are you doing?”

Shawn waggled the phone innocently. “I was making a call. What are you doing?”

Gus rolled his eyes at the question, but seemed satisfied that Shawn wasn’t up to anything untoward. He crossed the office to his desk, pulling open a drawer to fish out a purple jewel case. Shawn watched out of the corner of his eye as Gus slipped the disk into his briefcase, running his fingers over the soft buttons of the phone before sliding it onto the cradle. Gus kept focused on his things, no small talk, no curious glances, and Shawn knew he was still a little resentful about the interruption yesterday.

He cleared his throat. “I made you a new appointment—Olympus Massage Parlor. I checked your PDA to make sure there were no conflicts.” As soon as the words left his mouth he grimaced. Gus probably wouldn’t like that.

He looked a little surprised rather than angry though. “Okay. Thank you.”

“I put it in your PDA too,” Shawn said and sat forward, encouraged by the agreeable reception. “Three hours.”

Now Gus looked impressed and Shawn allowed himself a pleased grin.

He smiled back, temper clearly softening. “Thanks, Shawn.” He gathered up his briefcase and started for the door, glancing at his watch. Shawn got to his feet and Gus’ head turned. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Shawn ignored the sharp pang in his gut at the unspoken request to be left alone and said blithely, “Yeah, sure. I’m just going over to Dad’s now. He said I had to clean the grill or he wasn’t going to make us dinner anymore.”

Gus relaxed and said, “Better get that cleaned then or we’ll be in trouble.”

Shawn grinned and lifted his hand in response to Gus’ own wave, the grin falling away as soon as he was out of sight. He slumped into his desk chair, pushing his hands into his hair. “This sucks.”

~ * * * ~

Fifteen minutes later Shawn strode in through the back door of his dad’s house calling, “Dad, I need an alibi!”

Henry jerked where he sat on the couch, his head whipping around so fast the glasses perched on his nose nearly went flying. “Shawn! How many times have I told you not to come busting in here like that?” And then, as Shawn slipped into the kitchen, his words seemed to register. “You need a what?”

Shawn bent, peering into the fridge. “An alibi, Dad. For the next couple hours.”

He chose a Coke before strolling back out to the living room, snapping it open and immediately slurping off the overflow. Henry was glaring at him from the couch. “What the hell do you mean you need an alibi?”

Shawn rolled his eyes, flopping down into one of the armchairs. “Relax, Dad, it’s for Gus, not the police.”

Henry eyed him for a minute longer and then said, “Why on earth do you need an alibi to give to Gus?”

Sighing, Shawn took another swig of the soda, his fingers playing with the leather seams of the chair. “He’s mad at me and I’m attempting to get back in his good graces. I told him I was coming over here because you were forcing me to clean the grill so he wouldn’t think I was going to be stalking him on his route.” His head rolled to the side. “So what’s for lunch?”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. “You want lunch and an alibi, you can go do exactly what you told Gus you were going to—clean that grill.”

Shawn groaned and slumped down even further in the chair. “I should have seen this coming!”

His father smirked and said, “Yeah, kid. You should have.”

~ * * * ~

Shawn let out an explosive sigh, leaning against the grill and wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his wrist. “This is child abuse.”

Henry snorted and sipped at a glass of lemonade. “Please. You were raised like a prince. This couldn’t even be considered manual labor. Suck it up.”

“Seriously, Dad. I really don’t think I can stomach the ‘starving, dying children in east Cleveland whose parents beat them every night with bats covered in rusty nails’ spiel. Not while I’m scrubbing your grill.”

“All right. No lecture. Tell me what’s going on between you and Gus.”

Shawn turned back to the grill, putting the steel brush back to the bars and starting in on it with fierce concentration. Henry stayed silent. When the eyes on the back of his neck started to burn little twin holes, Shawn finally cracked. “I’ve been treating Gus like an ass—trying to control what he’s doing and ignoring what he wants and he finally got sick of it. I didn’t do it on purpose. Well, I did, but—I mean. I just— I didn’t do it to control him. I wasn’t trying to—” He paused in scrubbing, breathing hard. “He’s up for a promotion. In New England.”

Henry’s voice was quiet, almost sympathetic when he replied, “And you don’t want him to go.”

Shawn went back at the grill with renewed ferocity. “Of course I don’t want him to go! We’re business partners! It snows in New England! He hates the cold!” The brush snagged and popped out from between the bars, Shawn cursing as the sharp bristles slit open the side of his hand. “Dammit!”

Henry immediately snatched his hands away from the grill. “Don’t get it all over the grill!” He sighed as blood began to fill the hand Shawn held cupped against it. “Nice work, kid.”

“Gee, thanks, Dad,” Shawn snapped.

The comment was ignored, Henry’s hands gently drawing him toward the door. “Come on, let’s get this mess cleaned up.”

~ * * * ~

Shawn hissed as his hands were guided under the stream of water from the kitchen faucet, blood mingling with it and flowing down the drain in thin red tendrils. Henry peered at the wound when it was clear, turning Shawn’s hand awkwardly to look. “Doesn’t look deep.”

Shawn winced as he stuck it back under the water and then jerked sharply as he began to rub with the pad of his thumb. “OW! DAD! OW—STOP!”

Henry glanced up, annoyance flickering across his face. “You cut it on that damned steel scrubber. It has to be cleaned out.” Shawn cursed again, squirming in his grip and Henry muttered, “Don’t make me get the soap, Shawn.”

“Oh yeah, because you’re one to talk,” Shawn retorted, flinching and gritting his teeth as Henry swiped his thumb over the cut one final time. He turned, tearing a paper towel off of a nearby roll and folded it up, pressing it to the now slowly oozing cut. “So what is it you’re doing to make things up to Gus?”

Shawn’s cheek twitched as he pulled his hands away from his father. “I got him an appointment at a spa. Actually two of them now. It was Juliet’s idea. If it hadn’t been for the two of them, the whole thing might have blown over already.”

Henry’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? How’s that?”

He adjusted the paper towel as it began to soak through and sighed. “Gus’ appointment was yesterday and the two of them showed up talking about some masseuses getting sick or something and then they cleared out the place to question the employees. That was bad enough but then Lassiter just ices the cake with a stupid comment about my helping them out. Gus was...well, he wasn’t happy.”

Henry’s arms folded over his chest and he leaned back against the counter. “You practically asked for it with all the bullshit you put Carlton through.”

“No, no, that was a low blow.” Shawn shook his head, a dark gaze on his hands, his mouth drawn tight. “It would have been one thing if he’d just been screwing with me, but he was screwing with my friendship with Gus. That’s off-limits.”

“Would you rather have him undermining your work? Tarnishing what little respect you’ve managed to scrape up?”

Shawn shifted, shaking his head slightly. “No, but…” He breathed out sharply. “Why the hell couldn’t he embarrass me in front of a girl instead of trying to destroy twenty-five years of friendship?”

“It’s more effective to hit where it hurts,” Henry pointed out.

“Yeah.” Shawn sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “I just have to fix this. If I can show him, then it’ll be fine.”

“Gus is a realist. Promotion or not, fight or not, the two of you are still going to be friends. It certainly won’t hurt to suck up a bit though,” he said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Shawn glanced out the window to the abandoned grill. “So does the battle wound get me off the hook?”

Henry shook his head, smirking openly. “Nope. You're halfway done. You can be done in time for your afternoon smoothie run.”

~ * * * ~

Olympus Massage Parlor lived up to its name with tall, white pillars lining the inside walls, and fields of green grass and blue skies overlooking a painted Parthenon in between. The waiting room was more spacious than Montello’s had been and there were two other people in the waiting room calmly filling out paperwork and skimming through a magazine as they waited to be beckoned in for their appointments. Shawn had put on a crisp white shirt (still unbuttoned to the third button) tucked into a pair of straight, dark blue jeans and looked, for Shawn, reasonably professional as he strode in ahead of Gus, flashing a smile at the receptionists. “John Hobbes, for two o’clock.”

“All right,” one of the women said, pulling out a clipboard and clipping a pen beneath the clasp, “Just fill out this paperwork, Mr. Hobbes and someone will be out with you shortly.”

“Thank you.” Shawn scooped up the clipboard and turned to Gus. “Where do you want to sit?” he asked brightly.

“Shawn, as much as I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I can fill out my own paperwork,” Gus said, reaching for the clipboard.

Shawn clutched it possessively to his chest. “Well of course you can, but you don’t have to.”

Gus sighed and let his hand fall, gesturing to a few nearby chairs. “Over here.”

Shawn beamed at him and sat down to fill out the paperwork. He managed to get three questions in before he had to look up. “Dude, they seriously need to know all this stuff?”

“It’s a form of medical procedure, Shawn. The more information the better. You know, it would be easier if you would just let me fill it out.”

“No. Just sit back and relax Gus. That’s the whole point of this. I can fill out a little paperwork.” He set back to work and Gus’ mouth curved in a small smile. He did appreciate that Shawn was trying so hard to get this right. He might as well take advantage of it while it lasted. Smiling to himself, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

A moment later, they opened again. “Are you sure you don’t need me to take care of the medical history? I mean, it should be accurate, Shawn. You can’t just make it up.”

Shawn rolled his eyes, shooting him an exasperated look. “Dude, I can handle it. I practically am your medical history. Just relax, would you?”

He had a point.

“Okay, if you say so,” he said, leaning back into the chair again.

“I do,” Shawn insisted, putting pen to paper again.

Gus let his mind wander.

~ * * * ~

When he had finished filling out the paperwork, Shawn nudged Gus’ arm and his eyes opened slowly. “Hm?”

Shawn’s mouth twitched. “I just need a few of your John Hancocks.” He held out the clipboard, pointing to the first with the nib of the pen. “There.” Gus signed with a much looser scrawl than his typical meticulous signature. He stifled a smile and flipped to the next page. “Here.” Another loose signature. He flipped to the last page. “Then sign and date here." When that was done he plucked the pen out of Gus’ grasp and said, “In a matter of minutes, you’ll be drifting off into a blissful land of relaxation.”

Gus swatted at him half-heartedly. “Just go turn in the paperwork, Shawn."

Shawn grinned and got to his feet, paging through the forms again to double check that he’d filled everything he needed to out as he moved toward the desk.

“All set, Mr. Hobbes?” one of the receptionists asked at his approach and he smiled at her.

“Oh, I’m not Mr. Hobbes. I’m just his assistant. But yes, I think so.” He handed over the paperwork and said in a stage whisper, “Mr. Hobbes is—”

He froze at the sound of a familiar voice.

“This is starting to get ridiculous. Four sick masseurs from this salon as well?” He turned, horrified, to see Juliet shaking her head at Lassiter.

“No,” he whispered. “Nonononono _no_.”

Over in the chair against the wall he saw Gus’ brow slowly begin to furrow as Lassiter replied grimly, “We need to find out what’s going on and we need to find out now.”

He lunged toward the detectives, hissing fiercely, “What are you doing here? Are you stalking me?”

Juliet looked surprised to see him. “Shawn. What are you—?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the furrow in Gus’ forehead continue to deepen and he whispered, “You have to turn around and leave, now.”

“Why would anyone want to stalk you, Spencer?” Lassiter retorted disdainfully. “And we have to do no such thing. We’re on official police business.”

Gus’ eyes began to flutter and he grabbed one arm each. “Please,” he begged, “You have to leave—duck out of sight or something—or Gus is going to—”

He flinched as Gus said quietly, “Or Gus is going to what, Shawn?”

His hands came up placatingly as he turned sharply to face his best friend, expression pleading. “Gus, this is not my fault. I had no idea they were going to be here. I—”

“You were planning this the whole time, weren’t you?” he asked, voice even and far too controlled. “The clothes, making sure I didn’t have anything to do with making the appointment, filling out the paperwork…you planned the whole thing to get me to come along on this case.”

“No, Gus, that’s not what happened. This is just a stupid coincidence, I didn’t plan anything.”

“A coincidence. Right. This from the man who claims there are no coincidences,” Gus shot back.

“I’m serious, Gus! I didn’t know they were going to be here!”

Gus buttoned up his suit coat with careful, brisk movements, his expression flat. “Whatever, Shawn. If you want to investigate the case this bad, be my guest. Just leave me out of it.”

“Gus! Gus, no, wait!” Shawn followed after him, trying desperately to get him to listen. “Gus, please, I didn’t—”

“Spencer, don’t you want to give us a hand?” Lassiter called and Shawn turned back with a venomous glare.

“I shut off incoming calls from the psychic network, Lassie, handle it by yourself,” he snapped in return and pushed through the glass door after Gus.

~ * * * ~

Gus had made good time across the parking lot, strides long and purposeful and Shawn had to practically sprint after him to close the distance between them. “Gus! Gus, wait up!”

He stopped only when Shawn’s hand slammed the car door back into place, turning a glare on him. “What, Shawn? Need a ride to the next crime scene?”

“This was not on purpose!” Shawn insisted. “I swear, I had no idea they were going to be here.”

Gus’ arms crossed over his chest, his chin tilting up angrily. “Shawn, this is exactly what made me mad in the first place. I could care less if you want to work cases, it doesn’t matter to me. It’s a business, that’s what you do. What I care about is that you’re always lying to me about them!”

“Dude, I’m not lying—”

“No, Shawn. Listen to me. I’m all for working cases. We’re in a business together and that’s how it works. I don’t want to be tricked into helping you investigate them though. I want you to ask me. I’m an equal partner in this, Shawn, and I want to be treated as such. Just ask me when you want to go investigating, don’t concoct these elaborate set-ups to trick me into coming along with you. Sometimes I’ll tell you no, but sometimes I’ll tell you yes. I want some respect, Shawn, or I want out.”

Shawn swallowed hard. “I’m trying, Gus. I really am. This wasn’t supposed to be a trick. Lassiter and Juliet weren’t supposed to show up. I need to put a bell on Lassie or something, I guess,” he muttered darkly. “Look, I’ll make another appointment. Somewhere else. It can’t happen again, right?”

Gus inhaled a deep breath and then released it, nodding. “Okay. Okay, Shawn. But if you do this one more time…”

“I won’t, it’ll be perfect this time. I swear.” Shawn drew a little cross over his heart with his fingers and really, really hoped he wasn’t wrong.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Shawn’s first appointment the next morning was at the station with a certain pair of police detectives who had been doing their darndest to ruin his life the last few days. He swept in, snatching a donut out of Lassiter’s hand as well as the cup of coffee off of the corner of Juliet’s desk and earned two indignant, " _Shawn!_ "s for his trouble.

"Good morning fellow crime solvers," he said and leaned back out of Lassiter’s reach, taking a big bite out of the donut. His mouth bulged out in a smile at the infuriated look that swept across Lassiter’s face. He swallowed and added, "How are we doing on this lovely morning?"

"Shawn, give me back my coffee," Juliet said. She looked no nonsense this morning and maybe just a wee bit tired.

He took a sip of the coffee. "Mm, Italian Cream."

She glowered at him. "Shawn."

"Spencer, what the hell are you doing here?" Lassiter demanded irritably, shooting a calculating look across the bull pen at the box of donuts set out on the table next to the coffee. There was one left, completely exposed without its brethren there to protect it.

Shawn took another bite out of the donut, licking icing from the corners of his mouth. "I bet if you run, you can get the last one Lassie. They’re yummy."

The glare Lassiter leveled at him was poison.

Ignoring the look, Shawn urged, "Go, go, Lassie! Get it before someone else—oh. Oh…too bad." The venom in Lassiter’s glare only increased as he waved cheerfully at Buzz McNabb, who waved brightly back, scooping up the lone donut and sinking his teeth into it. "You should have made a break for it while you still had a chance."

"Shawn, what do you think you’re doing?" Juliet demanded and he decided that when she didn’t get her coffee, she was seriously grumpy.

He decided to play innocent a little bit longer. "I’m not sure what you mean, Jules."

Her teeth grit together and she thrust out a hand. "Give me my coffee, Shawn, and tell me what you want."

Pulling the coffee deliberately further out of her reach, he sobered. "Oh, you want to know what I want?" He glared between the two of them. "I want the two of you to stop sabotaging everything I’m trying to do to get back on Gus’ good side, okay? I want to know what the hell is going on that has you guys showing up everywhere I send him. I want Gus to stop looking at me like I’m the biggest jerk in the entire world. I just want him to get a damn spa treatment already! Is that really so much to ask?"

Juliet sighed, rubbing her temples. "Shawn, we’re not trying to sabotage you. I’m sorry we keep showing up at the worst possible time, but we’re just following the leads as they come. This is really unfortunate, but—"

"’Really unfortunate’? Jules, ‘really unfortunate’ is when you plan a baseball game and it gets rained out. ‘Really unfortunate’ is when you spill coffee on your jacket.  _This_  is a nightmare! How am I supposed to get him to trust me if it looks like I’m doing the same stupid things over and over again?"

"Spencer, I really don’t care what issues you’re having, I would be just as pleased to stay the hell away from you," Lassiter griped. "You’re even more of a pain in the ass when you’re emotional."

Shawn ‘accidentally’ kicked the lever on Lassiter’s chair, and it dropped down with a sharp jerk. Lassiter’s teeth ground together so hard Shawn imagined he could hear them creaking under the strain. "Well, you’re  _not_  staying away from me, you’re tagging along behind me like a little lost puppy or something, so I want to know what’s going on." Shawn’s hand fluttered near his ear, his mouth tightening. "Maybe if I have a little more information I can stop the spirits from setting up these little clandestine meetings, because it’s getting old."

"Oh, now I get it," Lassiter said, leaning back in his chair, his lip curling. "You just want in on the case."

"What?" he said, forgetting for a moment any emotion other than complete incredulity. "No. Lassie, haven’t you been listening? The last thing I want is to be on the case. Gus would throw a conniption. He’d never speak to me again." The thought of never talking to Gus again sobered him even further and he held out Juliet’s coffee, pleading silently for her help. Reluctantly, her expression softened and she took the cup from his hand gently.

"Sure, Spencer," Lassiter said, his skepticism thick in his voice. The chair gave a long squeak as he turned it slowly to the side. "You know, I wouldn’t put it past you to do something as absurdly elaborate as this just to nab a case."

Shawn shook his head, turning away from the detective, who obviously wasn’t going to listen. "Juliet, please. Just give me the basics. I just need to know what’s going on and where so I can avoid sending Gus there. Please." He turned up the gooey, puppy-eyes tenfold. Sammy Winchester had nothing on these greenish-brownish-hazelly orbs.

She sighed, and, ignoring her partner’s dirty look, handed the case over. "There have been a bunch of masseurs at various massage parlors falling seriously ill. Right now there are thirteen people in the hospital, all masseurs from, Day Glow Spa, Olympus Massage Parlor, Sea Breezes Spa, and as of this morning, Sweet Shores Spa. Some of the ill are barely hanging on and we think that it might be an angry client or some kind of protester, or maybe even a competitor who’s trying to poison them. We really don’t know much other than that, but it’s escalating, and fast."

Shawn flipped through the file, skimming through the profiles of all of the current victims, a variety of documents from each of the spas, and over three dozen statements from various employees of the spas. "There aren’t any leads? No double-dipping clients, no fiercely competitive owners, no…" He waved a hand, as though trying to stir up another possible lead from thin air.

"No, Spencer, there’s nothing." Lassiter snatched the file back and began flipping through it himself, a frustrated look on his face that for once had nothing to do with Shawn. "Alibis checked out for the owners and most of the staff and we still haven’t been able to identify  _how_  they’re getting poisoned, let alone figure out where the poison’s coming from."

Sighing, Shawn said, "So I’m still playing hit or miss. Awesome."

"Oh, yeah," Lassiter said derisively, "My heart just bleeds for you. Thirteen people are dying in the hospital, but, oh, poor Shawn Spencer is having domestic issues. Boo hoo."

Shawn straightened sharply, his mouth scoring a fierce line across his face. "Dude, what is your  _deal?_  This is important. Would it kill you to—"

Juliet cut smoothly between them, pressing one hand to his chest and saying, softly, "Shawn."

His mouth shut, his jaw clenching and unclenching. "Jules, this is—"

"I know, Shawn." Her arm wrapped around his arm, just above the elbow, turning him around with gentle pressure. "Come on."

And because it was Juliet, and because the hand on his arm was helping pull his heart rate back down, he went quietly, letting the angry pressure inside his chest slowly fizzle away. They were nearly to the front doors of the station when his temper had faded enough to say something without snapping. "And I’m the one who’s immature?" he muttered bitterly, just loud enough to tell Juliet the comment was meant for her to hear.

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and stealing away the warmth from his elbow. "You both have your moments."

He grunted, refusing to acknowledge that more articulately.

"Shawn, you know how he is. It’s not personal. Well, okay, it kind of is, but this is a universal amount of insensitivity, he’s just poking at you because he doesn’t often get a chance to hit you where it hurts."

"It still sucks," he muttered and even to his own ears he sounded a little bit sullen.

"I know, and I’ll talk to him, okay?" She took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. "Just focus on fixing things between you and Gus. I know you’re getting there. Just keep at it, okay? He just wants to know you really are willing to put him before yourself and even if things keep going awry, as long as you keep trying, he’ll see that you are."

"I just want everything to be normal again," he said, eyes tracking Buzz McNabb’s path as he made his way through the lobby, pausing every so often to apologize for bumping into someone smaller who he’d managed to over look.

"Normal can change too, Shawn," Juliet said, tone gentle.

"Yeah," he said. "I know. That doesn’t mean I have to like it." A group of officers crowded off to the side of the desk burst into uproarious laughter and Shawn’s eyes dropped to the hardwood floor. He was tired of being the bad guy. He was tired of going to dinner alone.

He missed Gus.

~ * * * ~

Shawn was sitting in the lobby of Shady Brook Spa perusing the spreads of the November  _Vogue_ issue when who else but Lassiter and Juliet should walk in. His head sagged, the magazine dropping into his lap. "Okay, seriously. Am I giving off some sort of scent that’s poisonous only to masseurs? Are the spirits giving you directions? Leaving a breadcrumb trail? Because this is getting a little bit ridiculous."

"It  _is_  a little bit coincidental," Juliet admitted.

"Coincidental? Jules, coincidental would be wearing the same color shirts.  _This_  is a full-blown conspiracy." He set the magazine down on the little table next to his chair with a flourish. "What do you think, is this something Dr. No would do?"

Juliet rolled her eyes. "I don’t think James Bond villains deal in destroying friendships, Shawn. I think you’re dealing with Scott Evil at best."

"Well then Scott Evil has been taking some classes in diabolical." He paused and then cocked his head, looking at Juliet with a new appreciation. "An Austin Powers analogy, Jules?"

She flashed him a playful grin. "What’s not to love about Austin Powers?" Beside her Lassiter began to look irritated and Shawn shot a glance toward the hallway down which Gus had been led. Sighing, he decided to give into his fate. "All right, how many was it this time? Three? Four?"

"Five," Lassiter cut in brusquely, "Now if you’ll excuse us—"

"Five? Jeez, this place must be bigger than I thought," Shawn muttered to himself. He took another look around the waiting room, a large open space with at least half a dozen assorted potted plants and a lot of stiff-backed furniture. It didn’t  _seem_  like the kind of place that could lose five masseurs and keep chugging a long, but apparently looks could be deceiving in this case. "So what’s the total now? Like, fourteen?"

"Actually, it’s—"

"Spencer, stop stalling," Lassiter snapped, cutting her off.

Shawn was opening his mouth to respond when he was suddenly struck with de ja vu. His eyebrows perked up as a pretty girl with a slightly frizzy red plait hanging over her shoulder walked in, a large box clutched in her arms.

"Spencer," Lassiter said. "Hello?"

The girl caught sight of him as he rose to his feet and he grinned. She propped the box on her hip with a smile. "Well if it isn’t the gentleman from last week. You must really enjoy these spa treatments." Shawn just barely noticed as Juliet and Lassiter moved past him, Juliet shaking her head.

"Not really, but they’re great for sucking up. Especially when one’s angry best friend really likes them."

She chuckled and shook her head, moving toward the counter. He trailed after her, pushing his hands into his pockets. "Stefanie, right?"

The look she shot him out of the corner of her eye was surprised. "I’m impressed you remembered that. Especially since we were never officially introduced."

He grinned and shrugged. "I have a gift. So what brings you to all these spas?"

Hoisting the box in her arms she said, "Making deliveries."

"Oh? What are you—"

Lassiter and Juliet were flashing their badges for the receptionist when Gus, once again clad only in a towel, burst in through the doorway. "Somebody call nine-one-one, Danielle just collapsed!"

The receptionist gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my god, not Danielle too?" Without waiting for a response, she reached for the phone and dialed.

Juliet moved forward, immediately all business. "Take us to her," she said, nodding at Gus.

He nodded back breathlessly and glanced once at Shawn before disappearing into the back, Juliet on his heels. Shawn stared after them, still too surprised to react.

This was getting too ridiculous to be coincidental.

~ * * * ~

Later that afternoon, Shawn joined Gus at a table in Starbucks, handing him a vanilla chai tea latte. "So I’m in the clear for this one?"

Gus nodded, taking a test sip of his drink, nodding in satisfaction when he found it to his liking. "Yeah, Shawn, you’re safe. You may be able to do some pretty insane things because of your messed up brain, but you’re not actually psychic. You couldn’t have known my masseur would get sick, even if you  _were_  doing a little crime solving on the side." He lifted pointed eyebrows and Shawn held up his hands.

"No way. I talked to them earlier because I was trying to figure out some kind of pattern so I could keep you away from this mess. Apparently it’s becoming a pretty big thing in the spas around town though."

Gus frowned. "How many people are sick?"

Shawn made a noise of disbelief and said, "Nineteen. Apparently the police have found five other people who’re sick with the same symptoms and then your masseur."

Gus’ eyes widened. "Wow. That’s bad."

"Yeah, and the police have no idea what might be happening." He waggled his head. "They have a few theories—competitors, maybe a bad batch of gloves or something, but they don’t really have anything. The doctors aren’t even sure what the toxin is exactly."

"Wow." Gus shifted in his seat. "Maybe you should wait until  _after_  they figure this out to make it up to me."

"Dude, I wouldn’t send you to the spas if you were in danger. It’s just the masseurs getting sick. That’s why the police think it might be sabotage. None of the clients are getting sick."

Gus shifted again and said, "Yeah, well. Just…try to pick a spa where nobody’s gotten sick yet, okay?"

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Like I’d send you somewhere you might get hurt. I’d eat my own socks before letting anything happen to you, dude."

"Yeah, sure," Gus retorted, but he was smiling as he took another sip of his drink.

~ * * * ~

Juliet breathed out a long sigh as she sank into her desk chair, rubbing her forehead. This case was just getting more and more complicated with every lead they managed to find and she was exhausted. She felt terrible—their investigation was doing nothing but interfering with Shawn’s attempts to repair his relationship with Gus and he deserved better than that for what he was putting himself through. Taking out her phone, she skimmed her fingers over the buttons. Briefly closing her eyes before, she punched in Shawn’s number.

Two rings later: "Jules, hey."

She leaned forward over her desk, lowering her voice, "Shawn, hi. I just wanted to apologize for this afternoon. Is Gus really mad?"

"Nahh," he said and the tone of his voice said he was telling the truth, "Gus didn’t think I could make his masseur sick on purpose, so I’m off the hook this time."

Juliet let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, that’s good. That’s really great, Shawn. I mean, I feel awful about what’s been happening, but the job’s the job, you know?"

He was smirking when he said, "I know. Now don’t work too hard. I know it’s tough when I’m not there to take the reins, but if you just take things one baby step at a time—"

Juliet laughed, faux offended and shot back, "Oh you think you’re so important, don’t you?"

"Well, I  _do_  have a better solve rate than either of you," he said, trailing off.

"Oh, sure, because you work half as many cases as we do!" she exclaimed.

"You know, excuses and jealousy aren’t very flattering on you Jules. Maybe you should—"

" _Ooh_ , Shawn Spencer, when I get my hands on you—"

"I’m getting shivers just thinking about it," he purred in her ear.

Juliet’s cheeks warmed and she told him with no reservations, "I’ll have your skin for my wall, Shawn. You had better sleep with one eye open tonight."

"Aggressive. I like it. I’ll have to add that to the list, right under  _indecisive_."

Squawking in good-natured indignation, Juliet hung up on him. She pretended not to hear Carlton grumbling about the unprofessionalism of flirtatious personal phone calls and turned back to her paperwork with a smile.

~ * * * ~

The next morning Shawn nearly vaulted himself out of his chair when Gus strolled into the office at eleven-thirty. "Gus!" he cried. "What are you doing here?"

Gus raised an eyebrow. "Up to something?"

Shawn settled deliberately back in to his chair, smoothing his shirt down with a dignified expression. "I would never."

"Uh huh," Gus said, setting his briefcase onto his desk. He pulled out his laptop and started booting it up. "So I was thinking about what we discussed yesterday."

"Oh?" Shawn said. "The conversation about why the monkey is always washing the cat in those YouTube videos but the cat never washes the monkey or the conversation about whether Britney Spears’ music mashes up better with Marilyn Manson or the Beatles?"

"The conversation about the sick masseurs, Shawn," Gus told him and then paused, looking thoughtful. "We can talk about Britney Spears later."

"Oh. That conversation," Shawn said and shifted in his chair, reaching for the toy frog on his desk nervously. "Ah, what about it?" The frog’s eyes bugged out.

Gus leaned against the front of his desk, crossing his arms casually. "I was thinking about it last night and I’m not really comfortable with going to another spa while people are getting sick. I know you said it wasn’t the clients, but I don’t really want to risk it. Just because there aren’t any sick clients yet doesn’t mean there won’t be."

Shawn’s fingers tightened around the frog. He sat forward a little. "But Gus, I wouldn’t—"

Gus cut him off with a smooth shrug of his shoulders, continuing as though Shawn hadn’t spoken. "So let’s call it even. You tried your best. We’re cool."

Shawn straightened up, the chair leather making a  _woofhing_  noise as he moved. "What? No, Gus, I have to make it up to you!"

"Shawn, seriously, it’s okay. You did what you could. That’s enough for me."

"No, Gus. I’m going to make it up to you if it kills me," he said, shaking his head adamantly. No way. Not after everything he’d gone through. He was going to do this and he was going to do it right.

"Shawn—" Gus started, exasperated.

Shawn grinned, waggling his eyebrows. "How do you feel about horses?"

~ * * * ~

 

As it turned out, Gus found horses just a tiny bit terrifying and refused to go along with Shawn’s take-a-sunset-ride-along-the-beach plan.

Which left him planless.

And being planless left him with just one other option.

"Come on, Jules, answer the door," he muttered, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited at the door of Juliet’s apartment, hands crammed into the pockets of his jacket.

He was relieved when the door swung open to reveal Juliet in a pair of light blue pajama pants smattered with cartoon cats and a matching tank top. Her eyes widened in surprise. "Shawn! What are you doing here?"

He grinned sheepishly. "Gus doesn’t want to go to the spas anymore. He’s afraid his life is in danger." His eyes flicked downward for just a split second and a blush spread rapidly over the bridge of Juliet’s nose. She retreated hurriedly into the apartment, snatching a sweatshirt off of the back of the sofa. Shawn coughed and stepped inside, closing the door awkwardly behind him. Tugging the sweatshirt over her head, Juliet pulled it into place, smoothing it down in an attempt to restore her dignity and composure. "If it makes you feel better, I was looking at the cats," Shawn joked weakly.

Juliet rolled her eyes and just like that, the tension was gone. "Mhm, sure." Beckoning him into the kitchen, she pulled open the freezer and hauled out two large cartons of ice cream. "Want some?"

Assuming that was an invitation to stick around for a while, he unzipped his jacket, letting it slide off of his shoulders. "What flavors have you got there?" he asked, hanging the jacket over the back of one of the dining room table chairs.

Smiling like Vanna White, Juliet hoisted up one carton, waving a hand around it with flourish. "We have yummy chocolate-choked Phish Food and—" She paused to exchange cartons. "—and the ever popular Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough."

Shawn grinned and said, "You know, I think I’m in the mood for chocolate. It works for girls, right?"

"It works for everybody," Juliet informed him, prying open the containers and starting her attack with a large spoon. "Chocolate has chemicals that release endorphins. Endorphins make you happy."

"And happy people just don’t kill their husbands," Shawn added gravely.

Juliet laughed, her head tipping backwards and Shawn grinned, pleased. When the laughter had faded, she said, "So Gus doesn’t want to go to a spa anymore?"

Slouching into a chair, Shawn nodded. "Yeah. It seems he thinks he’s going to get poisoned. As if I’d ever put him in danger like that."

"It’s understandable though. You can’t really know whether or not—well, I suppose  _you_  could know," she corrected herself thoughtfully.

Shawn quirked an eyebrow. "And how wo—oh right. Psychic. Sometimes even I forget."

Juliet’s eyes twinkled and she shook her head. "Sometimes the obvious is the easiest."

He shook his head and accepted the bowl of ice cream Juliet held out for him with a grateful nod. "Gus is probably right though. I mean, I never know what the spirits are going to divulge."

Looking pensive, Juliet said, "Well, maybe that’s why we kept running into each other. The spirits were trying to tell you something, Shawn."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well, I need some personal space, guys. Back off for a little while, okay?"

Juliet smiled around her spoon. "So you need to make it up to him in a different way then."

Shawn tipped his head back to keep a huge glob of ice cream inside his mouth as he said, "Yeh, behschicawwy."

"Hmm…" Juliet’s gaze drifted out of focus as she considered the possibilities.

In the middle of lifting the next mouthful towards his lips, Shawn felt something warm and soft press itself against his leg and he looked down to find a cat with white fur and wide blue eyes looking up at him as it rubbed it’s chin against his leg. "Hey there," he said, dropping the spoon into his bowl and bending to scoop the cat up. "You must be Blackie."

Juliet snapped back to attention, her eyes widening and her hand jumping to her mouth. "Oh my gosh. She never comes out of my bedroom when guests are over!"

Shawn grinned as Blackie settled warmly into his lap, purring loudly as he scratched beneath her chin. "Hey, cats are totally in tune with the spirit world. Besides, I can’t just turn the charm off."

Juliet snorted. "Apparently species means nothing to you."

"Hey," he said, "Good company is good company."

She tilted her head to the side a little as she watched him. "I didn’t know you liked cats. I mean, I know there was that one case with the cat, but I assumed Gus did most of the cat related work."

"I totally resent that. I’ll have you know I’m a huge fan of animals of all shapes and sizes." Shawn’s tone was affronted, but the ridiculous grin on his face as Blackie licked the side of his hand sort of ruined the effect. "It’s my dad who thinks animals are for eating not for feeding."

"You learn something new every few days," Juliet murmured to herself. Shaking her head, she said, "Okay, so Gus wants you to make it up some other way. How about an art museum?"

~ * * * ~

The next opening in Gus’ schedule wasn’t until Tuesday afternoon, so Shawn proceeded to purchase two tickets to the Santa Barbara Museum of Art when he got home. Gus would like art; art museums were one of those geeky type excursions. Plus, Ferris Bueller went to an art museum. How bad could it be?

But based on his recent streak of luck, he had concerns about how well the museum trip would go off, so on and off all day Monday, and Tuesday morning as he waited for Gus to get off work for their little field trip, he started work on a contingency plan.

Spread out in a hugely messy circle in the center of the office were the supplies he had gathered, including at least a dozen different tourist packets, several brochures for individual attractions, print-offs from a bunch of online sources, one booklet on Disneyland, and a package each of M&Ms, Gummi Bears, and Warheads. His face contorted as he finally melted through the semi-sour hard shell of one of the Warheads, unleashing the ultra-sour liquid center on his taste buds. He was still fighting a muscle twitch in his cheek from the candy when he plucked the suddenly ringing phone out of its cradle.

"Psych," he managed to choke out.

"Ah, Mr. Spencer. Good, you are there. I need you to come down to the station," Karen Vick said, her voice professionally brisk. "I have a case for you."

"Chief!" he exclaimed. "You know ordinarily I’d be down there before you could even pick up the phone, but Gus and I are working through a few personal issues and I really can’t—"

She continued as though he hadn’t spoken. "Detectives Lassiter and O’Hara informed me that you’ve already had a few run-ins with this case, and I’d be happy to reimburse you for those days, as well as the days until the case is solved."

"Chief, that’s…extremely difficult to say no to, seeing as I haven’t actually  _done_  anything, but, I really, really can’t.  _Really_."

Karen didn’t sound happy when she told him tersely, "Mr. Spencer, the mayor is  _literally_  standing outside my door at this very moment. He wants this case solved before it can have a serious impact on tourism and since my detectives are having difficulty gaining any ground, I am  _demanding_  that you come down, sit in on the briefing, and  _help solve this case_."

"Chief—"

"You  _will_  be here for the briefing, Mr. Spencer," she told him, and Shawn swore he could feel his ear go numb at the ice in her voice.

"Chief, I’m really sorry, but—"

"Be here at one-thirty, Mr. Spencer, or you’ll never work for another police department again." His head reared back as a dial tone sounded in his ear and he pulled the phone out in front of himself to stare. She’d hung up on him! Sighing, he tossed the phone outside his circle of research and shook his head. Well. It wouldn’t be the first time he hadn’t shown up when he was told to…

~ * * * ~

"I can’t believe she called him in," Lassiter grumbled, slamming the car door behind him.

Juliet rolled her eyes, shutting her door far more gently. "Carlton, you say that every single time she calls him in. Why does this still surprise you?"

He shot her a look that could have peeled paint, which she met with all the quivering fear of a grown man facing down a three-week-old puppy. "Whatever," he growled. "Let’s just get this over with."

"After you," she said, waving a hand graciously.

Scowling, he led the way into the office. "Spencer!"

"Lassie?" a bewildered sounding voice called back.

They moved into the office proper to find Shawn sitting in the middle of a vaguely circular spread of various papers and pamphlets, a variety of candies scattered around him with a wide-eyed look of surprise on his face.

"What are you guys doing here?" he asked, staring blankly.

"The Chief thought you might need a ride," Lassiter replied dryly.

Juliet grimaced sympathetically as Shawn’s face flashed through recognition and moved into irritation. "Well, she was wrong. I don’t have plans to be anywhere until three o’clock, and Gus will be picking me up then, so thanks, but no thanks."

Lassiter jerked a hand at the door. "Sorry, that’s not an option. The Chief will have our hides if we don’t drag your sorry carcass back with us. Now get up, or we’re going to be late for the briefing."

Shawn frowned. "I’m not going anywhere."

Lassiter turned back, his eyes narrowing as he pushed back his jacket to put his hands on his hips. "Yes, Spencer, you are. And you’re going right now."

Sitting up straight so he could mimic Lassiter better, Shawn put his hands on his hips and replied, " _No_. I’m not."

"Please, Shawn," Juliet pled. "The sooner we go, the sooner you can get out of there and the sooner you can get back to whatever you’re doing with Gus, okay? The Chief isn’t going to let you out of this one though. We really need your help."

"Speak for yourself," Lassiter muttered.

Shawn seemed to think about it for a moment and then said grudgingly, "No later than two-thirty?"

"We’ll do our absolute best," she promised.

"And I’m going to get paid? For this, and all the days prior to this?" he said.

Juliet nodded encouragingly. "The Chief promises you’ll be fully reimbursed. She wouldn’t be doing this if we didn’t really need the help, Shawn."

Shooting one more glance at the travel paraphernalia scattered around him and then one at his watch, Shawn sighed and said, "All right, all right, let’s get this over with. What is with the crises the last few months? Investigated by the FBI, nearly drowned, Chief Vick getting  _trampled_ , Gus hating my guts, and now this…"

~ * * * ~

The station was alive and thrumming with activity when they arrived fifteen minutes later. It wasn’t an easy distinction to make between this activity and the station’s regular amount of hustle and bustle, but there was a slight edge of tension and determination to the movements of every person there that gave the entire place a different feel. There was also an extra level of alertness in the way every officer was warily scanning their surroundings that made it clear that Karen hadn’t been exaggerating—the mayor was  _definitely_  here.

Juliet shot him a sympathetic look as they headed through the bullpen, beelining for the conference room. Through the window slats, Karen could be seen wearing her grave dealing-with-annoying-and-overbearing-political-figures-with-leverage-over-her-job face as she spoke to the mayor, a tall, wide-set man who looked like he’d probably crush just about anyone if he sat on them. He had a big bushy black and silver moustache that made it impossible for Shawn to look at the man without thinking he looked exactly like a walrus, deeply-wrinkled face and all.

The door jangled as they stepped into the conference room and smiles appeared on Lassiter and Juliet’s faces so fast Shawn blinked hard just to make sure it hadn’t been a trick of the light. The mayor turned and they both greeted him with a professionally brisk, "Mayor." Karen greeted them all with a nod and he couldn’t help noticing that she was bearing an eerie resemblance to a raccoon again. That didn’t bode well.

Tempted though he was to make a snarky (and maybe just a tiny bit bitter and resentful) remark, the look in Karen’s eyes promised he’d be lucky to survive, let alone ever work again if he did, so he settled for a humorless smile and, "Thanks for the ride, Chief. Mayor. Lovely to see you, as always."

And, as usual, the mayor reacted with badly disguised discomfort at the not-so-common greeting. "Mr. Spencer," he replied gruffly. "Thank you for coming. It seems we’re in need of your particular kind of…abilities in order to solve this case."

"So I’ve heard," Shawn remarked blithely, rocking on his heels. "I’m sure Lassie here has been doing his best though."

The look Lassiter threw over his shoulder was poison. Shawn didn’t bother stifling a grin. Behind them other officers and personnel began trickling in through the door and Shawn waved a finger at the chairs around the table. "So which one is mine?"

~ * * * ~

Within ten minutes all of the chairs around the table had been filled, Shawn fidgeting in a seat next to Juliet near the front, and a number of chairs had been pulled in to line the walls and also filled. Lassiter cleared his throat, gazing around the room at each of the occupants before starting, "On October tenth, Nora Fredricks, a masseur at Day Glow Spa, admitted herself to the ER, suffering from severe abdominal pain, vomiting and a migraine-level headache."

The projector screen at the front of the room lit up, the face of a smiling brunette woman with a young Labrador appearing.

Lassiter continued, grim expression never wavering. "Approximately ninety-six hours after that Linda Greene was admitted to the hospital for the same symptoms. Twenty-four hours later Tilly Darren succumbed to the toxin over at Olympus Massage Parlor. On the seventeenth another masseur from Day Glow Spa fell ill and the very next day another masseur from Olympus Massage Parlor fell ill. On the twentieth the first masseur at Shady Brook Spa reported in sick."

Juliet turned to the table, breaking in to say, "Unfortunately not all of the masseurs who fell ill went to the hospital for treatment and the ones who did didn’t all go to the same hospital, so no one realized we had a problem until after five people had gotten seriously ill. We’ve finally managed to locate what we believe are all of the victims."

Cutting her off at the breathing point, Lassiter said, "The sicknesses occur in no obvious pattern, though they do seem to have escalated in the last few weeks. Time increments of anything from twelve hours to ninety-six hours have come between each of the masseurs falling ill and there’s no particular rhyme or reason to any of it. It does appear that the masseurs who are getting sick most recently are getting sicker faster, however. Whatever we’re dealing with gets more potent with time."

A slide flashed up, showing October and November with little colored dots marking a large chunk of the visible days, the colors indicating which spa and the dots representing each victim, making the calendar look like it had contracted some kind of rainbow version of chicken pox.

"Twenty-two masseurs from these spas have experienced or are experiencing the symptoms from this toxin," Lassiter said. "Whatever or whoever is doing this needs to be found and found fast."

"Twenty-two?" Shawn said, his head coming up from his neighbor’s file, which he was surreptitiously eyeballing.

Juliet nodded. "There are a few lucky people who seem to have only gotten low doses of the toxin and they suffered from mild symptoms for a few days—a bad headache and some stomach pain, vomiting. Most of them just took a day or two off and then went back to work."

"And you don’t know what the ‘toxin’ is, do you?" he asked glancing around the room. The CSI supervisor looked disgruntled at the implied accusation.

"No, we haven’t been able to identify the toxin yet," he said, pushing a pair of black framed glasses up further on his nose. "We still don’t know what the source is, and the victim’s bodies have broken it down to the point where the original compound can’t be identified. We do have some leads. It’s not exactly easy to figure this kind of thing out. We have over seventy products, four types of gloves, and at least a dozen other sources we’ve been checking one by one for toxins. The new spas have helped us narrow it down, but this isn’t  _CSI: Albuquerque_. It takes time to break these down and analyze them."

"Albuquerque?" Shawn repeated dubiously. The CSI glowered and Shawn held up his hands, eyebrows rising. "Whoa, dude. I’m just asking for the sake of confirmation. I’m sure you guys are awesome."

The CSI narrowed his eyes and sat back, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring.

"What about you Mr. Spencer?" the mayor asked, leaning forward from his position at the end of the table. "You’ve been to several of the scenes. Haven’t you gotten any ‘vibes’ or ‘feelings’ or…" He waved his hand around. "You know. ‘Psychic’ type things."

Shawn’s mouth pinched as he stifled a smile and he lifted a hand to rub at his forehead. "Actually, since I’ve been busy working on personal matters, I’ve been blocking out the spirits and—"

An eyebrow rose on Karen’s forehead. "You can do that, Mr. Spencer?"

He nodded. "It takes a lot of concentration, but I can do it. Gives me one heck of a headache though."

"Well then helping us out will be good for you, won’t it, Mr. Spencer?" she replied.

Shawn shot her a grudging look and muttered, "Maybe for me, but not for my relationships…"

" _Anyway_ ," Lassiter interrupted, looking annoyed that his briefing had been derailed. "We still have nineteen people in the hospital. If anyone has anything  _constructive_  to add…"

"Are there any suspects at all?" Buzz asked tentatively from his seat in the far back corner of the room. He shrank down a little as everyone turned to look at him. "I mean—um—of course you have suspects—um. I meant— _who_  are your suspects, sir?"

With a glower that said he wasn’t quite sure whether or not he should be irritated by that question, Lassiter said, "Our primary suspect is one Adrian Walsh." A snapshot, probably taken by one of the CSI at one of the spas, of a man with tightly curled brown hair—not unlike the Brill-O pad hair Corey sported in  _Boy Meets World_ —flashed up on the projector screen. "Walsh is one of a group of investors who have a little money invested in each of these spas, and at least four others which haven’t been hit by the poison yet."

Shawn subdued the groan rising up in his chest and rubbed at his forehead again, just for good measure, then put his head down on the table. At this rate he  _was_  going to get a headache, just from having to sit through this stupid briefing. Turning his head to peer at the watch on his wrist, he grimaced. He had forty-five minutes before Gus was going to show up at the office to pick him up for their Afternoon At Art (Gus had protested at the absurd grammar, but Shawn was a fan of alliteration, and since he was making the plans, his title won), see he wasn’t there, and then proceed to explode with the force of Mount Vesuvius. Or Helena. Or some other really bad volcano-type explosion.

"…Walsh is looking to invest in half a dozen more spas in the hopes of getting a little more money for his troubles, but his colleagues are putting up a fight, arguing that what they have at the moment is more than enough. It’s possible that Walsh is sabotaging the spas they’re currently involved in as an attempt to illustrate their weakness."

Lassiter turned back toward the front, the projector changing slides once again. "Now. From what we know…"

A strangled sound escaped from Shawn’s throat, which Lassiter speared him with a look that could have set water on fire for a split second before continuing on seamlessly.

He was never going to get out of here.

~ * * * ~

Thirty-five minutes later, Lassiter still hadn’t shut up, regardless of the groans, sighs, chair squeakings, and obnoxiously loud whispering, all of which Shawn had utilized in an attempt to  _get the hell out of there_. He was feeling a ridiculous amount of jealousy toward the mayor, who, hardly ten minutes into Lassiter’s list of suspects had stood up, announced that he felt "the investigation was being expertly and thoroughly conducted" and then promptly hurried out as fast as his feet could carry him.

At the moment, Lassiter was in the middle of describing his reasoning for suspecting the receptionist from Olympus Massage Parlor when Shawn opted to thrust a hand into the air, Heil-Hitler-esque and said loudly, "May I go to the bathroom?"

Gritting her teeth and looking about ready to spontaneously produce laser beams from her eyes with which to render him into a small pile of ashes, Karen said tersely, "Yes. Go, Mr. Spencer."

"Thanks!" he cried and zoomed out the door, cutting through the crowded station with ease. He debated making a break straight for the door, and then decided it would probably be best to at least make it  _look_  like he’d gone into the bathroom and then creep out below eyelevel. That would give him at least a half hour head start. And he’d only be ten minutes late to meet Gus.

He headed for the sinks, once inside the bathroom, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the officers, and casually splashed a little water on his face. After giving one guy a little head tilt of acknowledgement and wiping his face dry with a paper towel, he crept back out into the doorway and—

"Mr. Spencer?"

Looking up, he grimaced. One of the largest officers in the entire force, a man just an inch shy of Buzz’s height and with the bulky muscle of a football linebacker, stood over him looking curious. "Where are you going, Mr. Spencer?"

His gaze flashed back in the direction of the conference room and his eyes narrowed.  _Nicely played, Karen, nicely played_. Picking up a piece of lint off of the floor, he straightened and held it out to the man. "Just getting this for you."

The officer’s eyebrows rose in surprise. "For me? Why?"

Shawn shrugged. "I dunno. The lint said it wanted to be near you. Who am I to deny a piece of lint it’s only wish in life?"

Shrugging, the officer tucked the piece of lint into his pocket. He then tipped his head in the direction of the conference room. "Come on, Mr. Spencer. Chief Vick said you might have some trouble making your way back to the conference room alone. I’ll escort you."

Suppressing the urge to whine, Shawn glanced down at his watch for probably the 5324890th time in the last half hour and reluctantly allowed himself to be herded back in the direction of the conference room. If he didn’t show up, he was as good as dead. He  _had_  to get out of here somehow. In the doorway of the conference room, he abruptly threw out his arms, the enormous officer screeching to a halt behind him. "I’d like to make a phone call," he announced to the room. The officers in the room turned to stare and Karen’s expression turned blacker still.

"Sit down, Mr. Spencer."

"But…" He whined. "Don’t I at least get one phone call?"

"Mr. Spencer, you are not going to worm your way out of this and you are  _not_  under arrest, now  _sit down_."

"Chief, you don’t understand!"

She took three sharp steps around the table and Shawn reared back, surprised at having her suddenly so close. "Mr. Spencer," she whispered fiercely, "if you do not sit down right now, I will have you handcuffed to a chair, do you understand me? The lives of the people of this city are at stake. You'll have time for your relationship later, but I have sick people on my hands and I need to take care of them before they start dying. Now, I’m sorry, but the sooner you solve this case, the sooner you can go back to whatever it is that you do. But right now, I'm paying you to do a job, and you better damn well do it. Now  _sit_."

"But—"

"Just let him go, Chief," Lassiter protested. "We don’t need his help!"

Karen’s mouth tightened into a fierce line and she pointed sharply toward Shawn’s vacated seat. When Shawn didn’t immediately move toward it, opening his mouth again instead to protest, the big man nudged him forward, pulling out his handcuffs. Shawn groaned. "No way! You’re not really going to—!" the cuffs snapped around his wrist and then around the arm of the chair. "Chief! This is has to be illegal!"

Karen pointed at the chair. "The sooner you sit down, the sooner this is over."

Shawn finally sat, but not without muttering, "This is so abusing your power."

Without acknowledging the comment, Karen waved a hand at Lassiter, a muscle in her jaw jumping. "Continue."

Clearing his throat, Lassiter said, "All right. Yes. So. Where was I…?"

"Lisa Charmichael," Juliet prompted helpfully.

"That’s right—so, Charmichael—"

Lassiter never got to finish his sentence however, as, at that moment, the door swung open and a young blonde rookie, flushed and breathing hard, burst in. "Detective Lassiter! Detective O’Hara!"

Forehead creasing into a frown, Karen said, "Take a deep breath Adams. What’s going on?"

"It’s your case—the spa poisonings—" he gasped. "We just got a call from the hospital—Cheryl Westen is dead."

Shawn’s stomach sank. Things were getting serious.

Now he’d  _never_  get out of here.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Disney or Disneyland or any other recognizable products, characters, shows, etc.

Juliet followed after Shawn as he exited the conference room, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. The fake psychic was rubbing his wrist and bore an expression she’d never seen him wear before. Walking a little faster to catch up to him she said tentatively, "Shawn?"

"What?" he said sarcastically, hand dropping away from his wrist. "You wanna handcuff me to a chair too?"

Juliet flinched. "Shawn…"

"I missed an appointment with Gus because of you guys," he said, finally looking her in the eye and she felt a sharp pang in her stomach at the betrayal in his gaze. He looked away again, his mouth pulling into a thin line. "I just want to do one thing right."

Her brow pinched and she reached out, fingers brushing his arm. "Oh, Shawn."

All at once, the anger seemed to bleed out of him. "What am I supposed to tell him? ‘Oh, sorry I missed the thing _I_ set up, I was kidnapped by the Chief.’" He snorted derisively. "Yeah, that’ll go over well."

Juliet’s hand tightened around his arm, pulling him to face her. "I’ll corroborate your story."

Shawn stared at her blankly. "Seriously?"

She nodded decisively. "Absolutely. Gus can’t get mad at you if it wasn’t your fault, right? And if I back you up, he’ll know you’re not lying." With an intense sense of relief, she noted that Shawn’s posture was slowly straightening.

"You’d do that, Jules? Really?" The hope in his face was almost too much.

She scoffed and punched him in the arm. "Are you kidding? After all the times you’ve saved my skin? Of course I will, Shawn."

He grabbed hold of her arms, dragging her into a hug and she grinned. "Jules. Jules Jules Jules _Jules!_ You’re getting something awesome for your birthday. Seriously _awesome_."

She grinned up at him as he released her. "I wasn’t before?"

Shawn faltered. "Well, of course you were. But it’ll be _more_ awesome now."

Laughing, she said, "I see how it is. Come on, let’s go talk to Gus."

~ * * * ~

Gus was sitting at his desk when they arrived at the Psych office, fingers clicking away at the keys on his laptop at a superhuman speed with just a little more force than was necessary. Shawn entered the office, making as much noise as he could possibly muster, jangling his keys, rustling his coat, scuffing his feet. He cringed when the other man didn’t so much as twitch in response, continuing to type furiously. Nothing was worse than when Gus ignored him.

Juliet put a hand on his shoulder and nodded encouragingly. Shawn took a deep breath and then stepped further into the office. "Hey, dude, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. You won’t believe what happened."

"No, I’m sure I won’t," Gus said and looked up from his laptop. A frown twisted his forehead when he saw Juliet standing there alongside him. His eyes flicked between the two of them before finally settling on Shawn, confusion firmly entrenched on his forehead. "Okay, what _did_ happen?"

Encouraged, Shawn moved forward, his hands coming up to gesture emphatically. "The Chief kidnapped me!"

The dubious frown made a return. "Kidnapped you."

"Yes. She called me this morning and tried to blackmail me into coming by threatening to cut me off of cases permanently and I refused. And apparently she’s really desperate because she sent Jules and Lassie to come and get me," he explained, words practically tripping over themselves in their haste to get out of his mouth.

Gus’ eyebrows rose. "Seriously?" He glanced at Juliet and she nodded vigorously.

"Carlton practically threw a fit. Chief even promised to pay you guys for the days when we ran into you during the course of the investigation."

Gus’ eyebrows crawled even farther up. "No way." He looked back to Shawn. "And you _refused?_ "

"We had plans!"

"He was pretty furious," Juliet confirmed. "Chief actually had him handcuffed to a chair at one point."

Gus’ mouth fell open. "She _what?_ "

"Well, in her defense, it looks like a repeat of the nanny thing. She’s got circles around her eyes that make her look like a domestic violence victim," Shawn said. "And the mayor was there, breathing down her neck."

"Damn," Gus said.

"Yeah. So I’m sorry I wasn’t here, but it seriously wasn’t under my control," Shawn said.

"No kidding," Gus said. He glanced at Juliet and the corner of his mouth twitched in a smile. "I hope you’re being rewarded for your assistance."

Shawn had enough dignity to look sheepish and Juliet grinned. "I’m getting an awesome birthday present."

Gus laughed. "You’d just better hope it’s your idea of awesome and not his."

Juliet tapped her chin with a finger thoughtfully. "This is true…"

"Come to dinner with us," Shawn suggested. "I can start thanking you now."

She smiled and said, "Thanks, but I’ve got a ton of paperwork I need to get finished. I have to get back to the station or I’ll be there all night."

The two men bid her goodbye and watched as she walked to her car, waving through the front window as she climbed in. They waved back and then lingered in companionable silence for a few minutes. Finally, Gus said, "So…kidnapped."

Shawn grinned. "I had to bring her. You’d have never believed me."

Gus rolled his eyes. "That’s because ninety-five percent of the time, you _are_ making it up."

"That hurts Gus," Shawn said, putting a hand over his heart.

"The truth hurts." Gus leaned back in his chair, swiveling it slowly back and forth. "So you’re working the case now?"

Shawn sighed dramatically and slouched against his desk. "Yeah. The Chief was pretty adamant. One of the masseurs died today, so the pressure just got dialed up like fifteen notches."

"Wow, it’s getting bad, isn’t it?"

"Well, it’s not good, that’s for sure," Shawn said, and then, staring at the floor where his mess from earlier was still scattered around, candy included, he added, "Uh. Sorry about the floor."

Gus waved a hand. "It’s no big deal. So what’s our first step? We do have bills due in a couple of weeks, so a job definitely can’t hurt."

"What? But, dude—" He gestured to the papers scattered across the floor. "We have plans! I came up with all these back up places, just in case—"

"I thought you were on the case now?" Gus said, frowning.

"Well, yeah, but I can handle the case. I’m still want to make this up to you."

"Seriously, Shawn. You don’t have to. You’ve done plenty."

"Dude, I haven't done anything!"

"Shawn, you sent me to four different spas—even interrupted, that's more massages than I've had in the past two years within the span of a month. The fact that people keep dropping dead isn't your fault...unless you're secretly masterminding a plan to get us on a case by creating the case itself…?" His eyes narrowed in exaggerated suspicion.

"I’d never do any such thing!" Shawn said, putting on his most affronted face.

Gus gave him a look that clearly said, _MHM_. "What about that time with my boss and that girl you paid to pretend to be a ghost?"

"Oh…right." He waved a hand as though wiping the air in front of him clean. "That was different! I’m not orchestrating this one. The point is, I haven’t made it up to you if you keep getting interrupted."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn, I told you, I’ve had enough of the spas for now."

"Don’t be an unmoist towelette, Gus! I have plans!" He leaned down, snatching up several of the pages off of the ground. "Tons of them! The art museum was just the beginning! Hockey, the history museum, nerdy geek stuff and the like…"

Shawn flashed a grin at the evil eye aimed in his direction. "I am not a nerd, Shawn."

"Of course not," Shawn replied solicitously.

"Fine, a hockey game could be fun. We haven’t been to one in forever."

Shawn lit up. "Sweet! I’ll get the tickets."

"Shawn, it can wait until after the case. I don’t mind—"

Shawn was already grabbing papers off of the floor, spreading them out over his desk and peering down at them critically. "No way, I’ve got the case. Besides, the next game is on Saturday, that’s four whole days." He paused, eyes scanning rapidly over one page and then turned and exclaimed, "Dude! We’re gonna see the Mighty Ducks!"

~ * * * ~

At nine-thirty the next morning Shawn wandered into Olympus Massage Parlor, yawning around his fist and clutching a venti cup of coffee in one hand. Juliet bit her lip to stifle a smile. "Morning, Shawn."

"’orning," he mumbled through another yawn. "Remind me why we’re here at such an unnatural hour of the day?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes and Juliet replied with amusement, "Nine-thirty isn’t unnatural, Shawn. Millions of people are up at this hour everyday."

"Millions of people have mental disorders," he said, trailing after them as they moved toward the front desk. "So you seriously think the receptionist might have something to do with it?"

"She’s worked at each and every one of these spas," Lassiter said, eyes focused laser-like on the brunette behind the desk. "She has to be involved somehow."

The receptionist in question plastered on a stiff-looking smile as they approached, her expression fluctuating just a fraction as the blonde sitting next to her reached over to grab something in front of her. "Don’t touch that!" she hissed and then the smile was back as she looked up at them. "How can I help you?"

In perfect synchronization, Juliet and Lassiter flashed their badges. "We’d like to have a word with you, Miss Applegate."

Her forehead creased in a cute little frown and she said, "With me?"

Juliet nodded. "You."

Looking flustered, the woman got to her feet. "All right. Just let me, um—" Bending down she whispered fiercely, "Don’t touch any of my stuff, Bridgette."

"Okay, okay, jeez," Bridgette whispered back. "I won’t touch your stuff." She rolled her eyes dramatically as the other woman slipped around the counter and Shawn leaned on the counter, sipping his drink casually as Juliet and Lassiter led her to an empty corner of the room.

Shawn cocked his head at Bridgette and said quietly, "She’s kinda—" He did an imitation of a cat, claws and bared fangs and all.

Bridgette rolled her eyes again. "Oh my god, yes. She hates it here. Says it’s not ‘real’ receptionist work. Like it’s any different in some stuffy office building. At least here the atmosphere is nice."

Shawn made a sympathetic noise in the back of his throat. "Why does she apply for spa jobs if she’s looking to work in an office?"

Another exasperated roll of the eyes followed. "She’s a temp. From what I’ve heard of her bitching, she’s worked at at least half a dozen different spas. You’d think she’d get the hint and just apply at some office building, but noooo."

Shawn leaned forward over the counter and Bridgette’s eyes widened, looking up at him. "You know what?" he said, "You have very white teeth." And then as he glanced down, his head cocked to the side again and he added, "Are your fingernails always that long?"

She gawked at him, obviously unsure how to take the comments. While she was still mouthing like a fish, he glanced quickly around the back side of the desk, his head coming up with a blinding grin when he’d found what he needed. "I think I hear my elephant calling, I’m coming Spunky!"

He flounced off to where Juliet and Lassiter were in the midst of an interview with the unfulfilled but also unguilty Miss Applegate. "Hey guys," he said, popping up between them.

Lassiter lifted a hand, waggling it in his face. "Go away, Spencer, we’re busy."

"But—"

"No. We’re doing actual police work. Go do some readings of the ficus or something."

Shawn frowned. "But I—"

"And what about on the seventeenth, Miss Applegate?" Lassiter plowed on, deliberately ignoring him.

Juliet whispered a soft, "Sorry," over her shoulder, but her attention remained focused on Miss Applegate.

Shawn made a face. Fine. No way Applegate had something to do with the poisonings. She had an appointment at one of the other spas and had written in pink caps lock _YAY!_ How stupid would it be to sabotage spas and then continue to keep going to them for treatments? If they didn’t want to know they were barking up the wrong tree, he’d find his own leads to chase.

Slowly backing up while Lassie and Jules were focused on Applegate, he dropped down, slinking around the edge of the desk. After a quick peek behind it to check that Bridgette was occupied, he made a break for it, pushing his way through the glass door that led to the back.

He just needed a look at the behind the scenes of the spa. Sure, Lassie and Jules had been back here but he hadn't been and that usually made the difference in spotting that one vital clue. Pausing for a moment to get his bearings, he turned to look down the hall. It was long and lined with white pillar-framed doors.

He was cautious in his movements, not wanting to draw attention, but prepared to act as though he belonged should someone appear unexpectedly from a doorway along his route.

One of the doors near the end of the hall opened, letting a pair of voices out into the hall, and he ducked into the closest room without thinking. Fortunately, he found himself closed in a dark closet and not an occupied room. Pressing his ear against the door, he could hear the voices still yammering away in the hall. Might as well amuse himself.

Flipping the switch on the wall, he turned, looking up at the shelves lining the walls. Bottles of various lotions and butters and crèmes sat on them along with stones, candles and a variety of other things that scented the closet like the inside of a Bath and Body Works. On the far back shelves there were several cardboard boxes, each labeled with numbers: 05A, 20S, 08O, 19O. They were labeled with what sounded like probable lotions. Way too much alliteration and ridiculous adjectives—

He should probably request one of those if he ever managed to get Gus back into a spa. He’d like ridiculous stuff like that.

The voices in the hall finally faded away and he cracked the door open, peeking out into the hallway. All clear. He slunk out into the open again, moving further down the hallway, keeping a wary eye on the doors around him. Each door had a little placard indicating the name of the masseur who set up shop inside and he recognized some of the names from the briefing documents. He was trying to recall the name of the dead masseur when a voice rose down at the end of the hall.

" _Where the hell is Spencer?_ "

Crap.

He pushed into the nearest room, closing the door as quickly and quietly as he could behind himself. This room was lit and as he turned, he realized that he’d done exactly what he’d hoped to avoid—he’d picked an occupied room.

Lying face down on the table was an older man with a broad back and he grimaced at the thought that the towel was the only thing between he and the man’s…bits. His eyes widened as the man shifted, and then said grumpily, "What are you waiting for? I haven’t got all day, buddy."

Horror dawned on him like ice water being dumped over his head.

The man was his _father_.

"Ohgod," he whimpered and flung open the door, fleeing into the hallway.

He nearly plowed right into Lassiter, who snapped, "What the— Spencer, what in the name of your civil rights are you—"

"Can’t stay—acid—must wash brain— _aargh!_ "

He vanished out the door.

~ * * * ~

"Man! It's been forever since we've been to a hockey game!" Shawn said, tossing the squeezy frog from hand to hand. It was finally getting a break from the rough week it had had.

"A year and a half," Gus corrected as he finished typing up a few things for a sales report due tomorrow. "Not _that_ long." Then he paused and tilted his head to the side slightly. "But still a long time."

"Dude! Do you remember that game?" Shawn asked, already gearing up for the night ahead. He was dressed in his team jersey, foam hand sitting on the desk behind him. Nothing left to do but enjoy a night of hockey and hot dogs and some quality make-up-for-being-an-ass time with Gus. Could it get any better?

"Hell yes!" Gus said, report forgotten for the moment. "Game two of the Stanley Cup Finals, no scoring for the first two periods, _fifty-four minutes_ of empty nets-"

"And then Pahlsson slides it past Emery's glove!" Shawn crows, hands recreating the event in mime.

"YES!" Gus cheers.

"My ears rang for _days_ after that, man, the whole stadium just going _nuts_."

Gus chuckled, attention half returning to his computer. "You remember how I almost didn't let you talk me into going?"

"Psh!" Shawn shot a mock glare. "I remember you complaining that you had some lame presentation in the morning and how you didn't want to be stuck in traffic until two o'clock in the morning because it would give you raccoon eyes." He threw the frog which Gus easily ducked, then followed it up by pointing at the pharmaceutical sales rep. "But you went and you had fun and you saw history in the making and you _still_ kicked ass at your presentation. Let that be a lesson to you."

Gus snorted at the smug smile on Shawn's face. As though that had been the plan all along and Gus' success was all his doing. "Only because the client I was pitching to was a Ducks' fan as well and when he found out I was at the game and _that's_ why I couldn't remember any of my presentation I suddenly became his long lost buddy."

Shawn's hands came up in the air and he grinned. "Dude, whatever works, right?"

Gus just shook his head, but he was still smiling.

"Yeah, okay, Shawn."

Shawn let him type for another three seconds, then said, "Okay, so the game starts at seven, but including drive time and parking time, we probably need to leave here in-" he checked his watch, "the next fifteen minutes or so. That cool with you?"

Gus nodded. "Just let me finish this up and change and I'm ready to go."

Shawn grinned. "This is going to be so-"

He stopped mid-sentence when Gus pulled his phone from his pocket.

"Burton Gust—"

Gus frowned and looked at Shawn.

"Yes, he is. One moment."

He held out the phone to Shawn.

Who was waving his hands and shaking his head back and forth rapidly and mouthing, " _I'm not here!_ "

Gus bent a look on him and covered the mouthpiece. "It's the Chief, Shawn!"

"I don't care!" Shawn hissed back. "I am _not_ available right now. Not until tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"Shawn—"

" _No_ , Gus."

Gus glared for a moment more, but Shawn refused to get any closer and just kept shaking his head.

With a sigh and a look heavenward for strength, Gus put on his brightest I-am-pretending-I-don't-hate-you-because-you're-an-idiot-but-also-a-client-and-I-don't-want-to-lose-my-job smile. "I'm sorry, Chief, I'm afraid Shawn is-"

"MR. GUSTER, PUT SHAWN ON THE PHONE RIGHT. **NOW**."

Even Shawn could hear that and with a wince and a sigh he crossed the distance to the desk and took the proffered phone.

Gus gave him an apologetic look and Shawn waved it off. It wasn't his fault.

He adopted his own fake grin and said, "Chief!"

That was all he got out before the reaming began and he excused himself to the front office.

Gus winced, hearing the first half of the lecture quite clearly.

What followed was pacing and arm waving and a series of stuttered attempts to speak until the " _SHUT. UP_ ," that Gus could hear faintly but clearly through the open door stopped even that.

A brief silence and stillness on Shawn's part as the Chief finished and then Shawn's pissed but compliant nodding and agreement to whatever had been said.

The phone was punched off and gripped with white knuckles and Gus thought for a moment that it was going to go flying through the window between him and Shawn.

But then it was released—very carefully as though that took a lot of self-control and effort—and Shawn came back.

"I have to go to the hospital," he said, his tone snappish and bitter, though quite clearly not directed at Gus.

"The case?" Gus ventured cautiously.

Shawn nodded once, a quick jerk of his head. "There's been a…change with one of the masseurs. She's still out, but chief wants me to go do a _reading_ ," he said with an eye roll. "See if I can pick up any _vibes._ " He tugged his jersey off and dropped it on the desk, grabbing the plaid button down he'd swapped it for earlier that was hanging from his chair and shrugging it on.

"Okay. We'll go another time—"

"No, man, you should still go. Take that cute girl from accounting. She likes hockey, or at least she likes ducks so it's close enough, and I think it's a safe bet she doesn't have plans."

Gus arched an eyebrow and Shawn shrugged. "A double date with her and Sharleen from Marketing was the back-up plan if I couldn't get tickets tonight. Sharleen will have other plans by now. Rosie not so likely. Besides, Rosie’s the one you think is cute and she totally reciprocates."

Gus nodded, but felt obligated to offer, "I could come with—"

"No," Shawn waved it off, grateful but not willing to accept. "No reason for you to waste your night, too. Especially since we both know the spirits aren't going to have anything to say since they're, you know, _fake_."

Shawn scowled and shook his head in annoyance as he dug his keys out of his pocket. "See you tomorrow," he said shortly, and headed out, pulling his helmet on along the way.

Gus watched him go and shook his head, wondering, not for the first time, if Shawn needed a break from Psych as much as Gus sometimes did.

~ * * * ~

"I'm here," Shawn announced, not with his usual flair but with a thread—a very thick, obvious thread—of annoyance in his tone.

Karen shot him a look for that since they were in a hospital in the presence of someone who was in a coma and could very likely _die_ and he could make it sound just a _little_ less like this was a huge inconvenience for him to be here trying to find out why this room was occupied by this particular patient.

A civilian he might be, but he chose this career just as they all did, and whether he liked it or not sometimes plans and personal problems had to be put on hold for a case when lives hung in the balance.

But Karen was nothing if not polite. Even if her tone betrayed her words slightly.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Spencer. Hopefully this won't take long."

"It's taken too long already."

Karen's eyes widened and she pressed her lips together, sucking in a breath through her nose.

"A word with you in the hallway, Mr. Spencer, before you begin?" It was phrased as a question, but her grip on his arm made it clear it was _not_ a request.

He let himself be dragged but didn't soften his expression at her tone or actions.

"Mr. Spencer, I realize that this was not what you wanted to do tonight. It's not what I wanted to do tonight either. But unless you want to _continue_ to sacrifice your free time in the evenings and on the weekends to this case I suggest you get your psychic head in the game and help us close this case."

Shawn's gaze remained stubbornly on the floor, arms crossed over his chest. He'd spent a goodly portion of his teen years in such a pose and Henry, if he'd been present, could have told her that she was wasting her time. Shawn was hearing her words, but he certainly wasn't listening to them. He was just waiting for them to end without overtly provoking an extension of the lecture.

"Now if you _hadn't_ turned your cell phone off and disconnected the line to your office—and by the way that will _not_ happen again until this case is solved or you'll be staying at the station to ensure we can get a hold of you—this could have been taken care of hours ago and you could be on your way to whatever you had planned tonight."

"A Ducks hockey game with Gus," Shawn said, eyes coming up to defiantly meet hers finally. Normally he wouldn't provoke so as to expedite his departure, but it wasn't like he was in a rush to get back to anything now. And he was getting damn tired of being treated like one of the Department's dogs.

Come. Sit. Stay. Fetch. Good boy.

Good boy his ass.

Karen did that eyes-widening-lips-pressed-together-deep-inhale thing again. "I don't care if you were _playing_ for the Ducks tonight, Mr. Spencer. Two people are dead and—"

"Wait, two?" Shawn interrupted.

"Yes, this afternoon the second victim succumbed to whatever this is and passed away just like the one before her."

Shawn frowned, mind drifting to the case.

"Shawn, you’ve made a commitment to this department and to this case—"

His mind was wrenched firmly back into the situation at hand with those words. "Wait I what?"

With a look for his wandering attention, Karen began to repeat herself. "You made a commitment to this department—"

"BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T GIVE ME A CHOICE!" he exploded. "I didn't _want_ on this case. I told you that. I have been doing everything possible to stay _away_ from this case—something that you'd normally appreciate—but you just wouldn't take no for an answer! You had Lassie and Jules come to the office and _drag_ me down to the station and then proceeded to _handcuff_ me to a chair so I'd stay for your briefing. Which, by the way was a _total_ waste of my time since I learned _nothing_."

A slight exaggeration possibly, but he hadn't learned anything relevant at any rate.

"So I'll go in there and I'll do your damned reading and I'll see what the spirits have to say, but understand this, _Chief_. I am not one of your officers you can order around. I am a civilian who _consults_ with your department. You want to change that then you give me a badge and a gun and title and a raise. Until that day, _I_ get to choose which cases I will and will not take."

"Mr. Spencer," Karen said, voice cold, "you overestimate your value to this department. We solved cases long before you arrived and we will continue to do so long after you've left."

"You know what, Chief? That's true. Despite what you obviously think, I know that. And I won't deny I'd miss working with you guys because _at times_ it's been fun. But I don't _need_ you. There are plenty of non-police cases I can take and plenty of other police departments I can work with. I like it here in Santa Barbara, but I'm not tied here. Psychic detectives are useful all over the country."

Karen just stared at him in surprise.

Shawn snorted a laugh, but it was far from amused. He started to say something else, but waved it off and headed into the room. He just wanted to get this over with and go home.

~ * * * ~ 

Entering the room, Shawn gave it a quick sweep.

A pretty blonde woman lay in the bed, too still to be asleep and looking less than healthy, but according to the machines surrounding her, certainly not dead. Yet.

He felt bad for her and all of the other masseurs. Really. But he meant what he'd said in the corridor to Chief. He _wasn't_ a cop. And they needed to stop treating him like one, demanding things and taking over his schedule without asking and ignoring the fact that he had a life outside of Psych and—

When the epiphany hit it was so strong it almost knocked him over.

Damn. No wonder Gus had been pissed at him.

He swallowed and rubbed at the back of his neck, then shook it off and focused. He still didn't want to spend all night here. The chief, thankfully, hadn't followed and if Lassie and Jules were here they were talking to someone else, so he had the room to himself.

Which was really good because he just didn't feel like making a spectacle of himself right now.

A glance at the chart showed that she'd been admitted, like all the others, with headache, stomach pains, etcetera, etcetera, blah blah blah, and had gotten progressively worse, entering a coma where she'd hovered uncertainly for a few days while they treated her symptoms, if not the root cause of her as yet unexplained illness.

And then today she'd taken an—also unexplained—nosedive deeper into the coma, her body systems shutting down even more.

Everyone else followed a steady progression down hill from sick to—in the case of two of the victims already with more to come if they couldn't find the cure—dead. There was no kinda sick-more sick-coma-plunge down to verge of death-dead.

You just slipped into a coma and wasted away, body shutting down bit by bit. Unpleasant, but steady in rate.

So what had caused the change? Was it her specifically or had something else happened?

The chart gave nothing more than a listing of her symptoms and treatments so he looked around the room to see what else might point him in the right direction. What had changed since the day before when she was sick but still a ways away from dying?

"Anything, Mr. Spencer?" Chief asked from the door, startling him. She was more subdued than during their confrontation, but still terse.

Shawn frowned, but shook his head. "Something…" He waved a hand by his head, resigned to a small show. "But…" He shook his head. "It's not clear. There are some very mixed energies in here. Has she had a lot of visitors?" he asked, wondering if one of them had brought something in, perhaps the killer coming back to view their handiwork or even speed it along. Were the other victims in danger as well?

Chief entered. "As far as I know visitors are limited, but not completely forbidden. You'd have to check with the nurses' station to see if they have a log though."

Shawn nodded and gave another moment's thought to the scene. Nothing else was jumping out at him. Maybe a name would.

He stepped to the bed and placed a hand over her—Marguerite, according the chart—chest and closed his eyes, making it look good and thinking, concentrating. He didn't want to have to come back. Too depressing.

Something caught his nose and his forehead wrinkled.

He wished now he'd thought to bring Gus along.

But he hadn't and he didn't intend to so…

He bent down and inhaled deeply.

Floral and fruity and food-like scents teased his olfactory nerves.

His nose wasn't the Supersmeller by any means so he couldn't distinguish them, but the combined bouquet might be enough.

It smelled like the various salons—or like a conglomeration of them.

Probably the result of her visitors, colleagues and clients and such, who smelled like that, the various lotions and things they used lingering and mixing here.

He straightened and opened his eyes.

"Anything?" Karen asked, hope underlying her tension.

Shawn shook his head again.

"Not yet. But the spirits have put me on hold. They'll get back to me when they've come to a consensus or otherwise have something."

Karen's shoulders sagged slightly and she sighed. "Fine. Thank you for coming. If that changes—"

"I'll let you know," Shawn agreed, then slipped past her out the door.

He made a stop by the nurses' station to see a visitor log, skimming the names.

They weren't for each patient specifically which didn't help. And it was all the same names he was used to seeing from the employee and client lists from the investigation already.

The only thing he had to go on was how long they'd stayed which seem pretty consistent except for a few names.

Fifteen to twenty minutes seemed to be a pretty standard visit, excepting six people who had stayed for anywhere from an hour to three hours, the max allowed per visitor by the hospital's regulations.

Of the six, two were unknown—though by the last name he'd guess relatives—three were masseurs, and one was a client. Or a supplier. Possibly both.

He'd have to check all the names again for possible connections or motives, but while it was possible it was one of the quick visits, he thought there was a good chance that it was one of the longer ones. Something in his gut was telling him to look closer.

It wasn't much and it might not be anything, but it was something.

Shawn smiled at the nurse who'd given him the log. "Thanks," he said sincerely, adding a, "Dora," after a glance at her nametag.

She returned the smile and took the book back.

"You're welcome."

Heading back to his bike, he pondered what he'd learned. At least the night wasn't a total waste, he thought.

~ * * * ~

 

A few days later, Gus was still worried about the stress Shawn was putting on himself. As usual, Shawn seemed to be shaking it off, or at least managing to ignore it when it wasn’t rearing its ugly head. Across the room he sat up abruptly in his chair, suddenly thinking of his most brilliant plan yet.

"Disneyland."

Looking up at him from across the room, Gus eyeballed him. "What?"

"Dude, Disneyland. We haven’t been in _forever!_ And we’re always sort of talking about how we should go back!"

Gus had started to look hopeful and semi-excited, but he squashed the feeling and shook his head. "Shawn, I don’t really think I want to. At least not until after this case. It’s like it’s cursed or something."

"Oh, come on, Gus! Don’t be a polka dotted snarflax. We can go tomorrow. You only have like, one appointment you’d have to cancel and if we get all the way to Disneyland, no way I’ve gotta come back. Come on, dude. Indiana _Jones_ …"

His best friend was clearly wavering. "Are you sure? I’m perfectly happy waiting. Or just going for the heck of it when we’re both free."

Shawn went for the ultimate bribe. "We can go on It’s a Small World."

Gus’ eyes bugged out. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Let’s go tomorrow." He leaned forward eyes bright with excitement and determination and finally, Gus gave in. He grinned.

"Yeah, okay, Shawn. Let’s do it."

~ * * * ~

The next morning Shawn arrived at Gus’ apartment, punctually, at exactly six-thirty, though he was clutching a coffee cup like a life-line, hair less than perfectly styled. Sometime between now and eleven that would change, though Gus would never really figure out when or how.

Shawn presented Gus with his own cup of coffee and then, without further ado, the duo climbed in the car and headed up to L.A. The two of them spent the entire trip babbling back and forth like a couple of excited eight-year-olds.

"Dude, you know what I can’t believe?" Shawn said as he got out of the car in Goofy, Lot B, "I can’t believe they actually put Johnny Depp in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride."

"I know!" Gus exclaimed. "The movies are great, especially the first one, but that ride was a classic! They sucked the nostalgia out of it."

"And you know how I feel about nostalgia," Shawn said and Gus nodded gravely. As they waited at the edge of the parking lot for the trams to take them to the park, excitement won them over again and they engaged in a quick punching war that earned them a wide berth from the collection of parents and kids around them.

Zooming off in the tram a moment later, seated in their own, empty row, despite the fact that the car was crammed full, Shawn said, "Okay, so where are we starting?"

For a second they stared at each other and then said in chorus, "Space Mountain." They wore matching crap-eating grins.

As they waited in line to get their tickets inside, Gus said, "I thought you didn’t wait in lines, Shawn."

Shawn kept his gaze focused on the line ahead of them, but said, "Okay, okay, so there are a few exceptions. Disneyland is one of them." A grin crossed his face and he leaned sideways out of the line, waving enthusiastically at someone up ahead. Gus’ jaw dropped when Shawn said, "Come on, dude, we’re getting in," and proceeded to breeze to the front of a brand-new line. Pushing through the turnstiles five minutes later, Shawn added smugly, "It’s a small exception."

The park was already alive and thriving with activity, kids and parents streaming up Main Street, gushing animatedly about the idyllic white buildings and arguing with a positive enthusiasm only possible first thing in the morning at Disneyland about which direction to go in first. It amused Shawn to hear several of the adults discussing the flow of traffic, typical patterns of movement, and the best tactical moves. Walking at twice their normal speed, Shawn and Gus managed to get into the line for Space Mountain with just thirty other people in front of them, all of them chattering excitedly.

They were standing at the front of the line, both practically vibrating with excitement when Shawn suddenly went stiff, his hand drifting to the back pocket of his jeans.

Gus frowned. "Shawn?"

Shawn looked back at him, a grin forcing its way onto his face. "This has gotta be the best ride ever."

Deciding to play along for now, Gus let his head waver. "I don’t know, Shawn. Indiana Jones…?"

"Dude, you’re right," he agreed, but the distracted, almost distressed look was back. "It may not be possible to choose."

"You got that right."

Their passage into the final leg of their journey did nothing to revive Shawn’s excitement. They both screamed as loudly as ever as they whipped around in the dark, assaulted by pinpricks of light and the terrifying whoosh of other cars passing mere feet away, but it was obvious Shawn’s heart wasn’t in it. And as they emerged out into the sunlight, Shawn said in an unnaturally subdued voice, "I’ll be right back, dude."

Gus watched as he moved across the open space between the buildings of Tomorrowland, pulling his cell phone out of his back pocket. He glanced at the display of the phone, looking singularly unhappy before flipping it open and drawing it to his ear. Gus didn’t have to hear the conversation to understand the gist of what was said. There was a heated argument, some big news, and then something Gus hadn’t seen cross Shawn’s face in a long, long time.

Resignation.

"Fine," he heard him say as he approached once again. "Fine. Yes. Yeah. Bye." The phone flipped shut with a sharp snap and Shawn stopped a few feet away, head bowed and shoulders slumped.

"Gus…"

"You have to go," he said, and it wasn’t an accusation or even a little sarcastic, but Shawn flinched like he’d just screamed an obscenity.

"Another masseur died this morning," Shawn explained, sounding just a little desperate.

For the first time in the last month, Gus’ initial reaction to disappointing news from Shawn wasn’t irritation. Shawn was pushing too hard on this, trying to do too many things at once. He was running himself ragged.

"I’ll…catch a cab or something," Shawn muttered and started for the front of the park.

Gus rolled his eyes. "Don’t be obtuse, Shawn. I’m not staying without you."

That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say. Shawn’s lips went white.

He didn’t speak the entire trip home.

~ * * * ~

"Seriously, Shawn," Gus said, and he wasn’t trying very hard to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "Let it go. We’re even. We’re good. Just let it go."

"Lunch," Shawn suggested abruptly. "Just let me take you to lunch."

It had been a day and a half since their Disney trip had been cut short and after attending to whatever business he’d been called to, Shawn had spent the majority of his time going through websites and paging through papers, proposing various and sundry activities. Nice as it was to have Shawn focused so wholly on making him happy, it was starting to drive him a little crazy. Gus let out an explosively exasperated sigh. "Shawn."

"It’s lunch! We do it all the time! I’ll actually pay this time though," Shawn insisted.

Shaking his head, because if Shawn was anything it was stubborn, Gus said, "All right. Fine. We’ll go to lunch. Then we’re even, okay?"

"Absolutely. Totally, one-hundred percent, even."

Gus shook his head again. Of all the best friends in the world, he had the wackiest, hands down.

~ * * * ~

The next afternoon Gus picked Shawn up at the office. "All right, where are we eating?"

"Your choice, dude," Shawn said, waving magnanimously at the road.

"I’m in the mood for Greek," Gus declared and Shawn grinned.

"Gyros, yes!"

Ten minutes later they were sitting down at Gyrating Gyros, the best Greek place in town. It was decorated with light, airy café-esque furniture, all in white and the walls covered in elaborate murals of the Greek countryside. They were seated at one of the little tables near the window.

"Damn," Gus said as he opened the menu, "I haven’t had Greek in ages it seems like."

"Two months," Shawn said carefully analyzing the menu himself. "We went after that thing with the ducks and the water ballet."

Gus’ head tipped back in remembrance. "Ohh, yeah, that’s right! …that thing with the ducks was weird, Shawn. Even for you."

Shawn’s nose wrinkled. "Yeah, it was a lot weirder than they made it sound in the paper…"

The phone in Gus’ breast pocket rang and Shawn went rigid, hands clapping to the front of his jacket. Gus frowned slightly at him and pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipping it open to read the text message he’d just received. Shawn relaxed again, but Gus couldn’t help noticing his surreptitious look at his own cell. He was way too strung up.

"What was that?" Shawn asked, clearly trying to play it casual.

"Message from work. They got a new shipment in today." He tucked the phone back in his pocket.

"Ooh, exciting." Shawn’s fingers smoothed over the spot on his jacket, beneath which lay his phone. Gus shook his head.

"What are you getting?" he asked.

"Dude, a gyro of course. You can’t come to gyrating gyros and not get a gyro." He paused and Gus took a moment to count down in his head to— "Gyro is an awesome word. Gyyyyrooo." Gus smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, Shawn, it’s a great word. Those crazy Greeks."

"Seriously. Who the heck things gy makes the sound euh? Really? Anyone?"

"Obviously the Greeks do."

"Well, you know what they say about Greek."

They both looked up as the waitress approached, smiling pleasantly at them. After a few minutes of Shawn’s waffling, they both ordered and moved on to talking about the new anti-emetic the company had assigned Gus. It bored Shawn out of his mind, but at the very least he could pretend to be interested in something he wasn’t for his best friend.

His head suddenly jerked to the side, eyes opening just a little wider as Gus yammered on about the pros and cons of the new drug. "Ju—" The word died in his throat as he obviously realized he was seeing things and he coughed, leaning forward to take a drag from his straw in an attempt to cover up the mistake.

Gus pursed his lips. This seriously wasn’t healthy.

"So I talked to Rosie yesterday," he posed casually.

Shawn’s face brightened. "Oh, really. Gus you sly dog. What’d you talk about? Did she give you her number? When’s the first date?"

He rolled his eyes. "No, she didn’t give me her number. And there’s no first date yet. I told you. I like to take things slow."

"Uh huh. Gus if you—" Shawn turned, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp look before turning back and continuing as though it hadn’t happened. "—go any slower, you’ll be dead before you go on a first date. We’ll be able to make _The Corpse Groom_."

"Ha ha ha." He was quiet, watching as Shawn checked his phone again in what he probably thought was an exceptionally sly manner. He sighed. "Do you want to go, Shawn?"

He jerked, his head snapping up. "What? Go? No, I—"

Gus stared him down, his eyebrows raised in a pointed look. "Shawn."

"Gus—no, I—"

"We’ll finish lunch, sure. But if you get called you can go. We’re even, Shawn. You have to let this go," Gus said.

"But Gus—"

"Shawn."

Shawn’s mouth thinned and he gave a short nod. "All right, fine. Desperate times call for desperate measures."

"Shawn—" The waitress arrived with their food and Shawn’s attention was gone, flashing his pearly whites in thanks at the waitress and digging into his food with gusto. Gus started in on his own meal more slowly.

He didn’t like the sound of that.


	4. 2.08 - A Day (And Then Some) at the Spa  by MusicalLuna

"I really appreciate you giving me this opportunity, Janet," Shawn said, following the tiny brunette woman down the hall. "I’m looking forward to working here."

"I’m glad to have you here at Salomé Salon," she said. "You seem like a very nice young man and you come with a lot of good recommendations, if not much experience. I’m surprised you’re still interested in the spa business, what with all the trouble we’ve been having around town. I was quite afraid we wouldn’t find anyone to take over Marguerite’s appointments, poor dear. Thank goodness no one else is sick."

He flashed a charming smile. "Let’s hope it stays that way. As much as I’d like to find a massage parlor of my own, I’d rather not get it in such a terrible way."

Janet smiled and pushed open the door to a room on their left. "I still can’t believe we found someone quite as sweet as you." Shawn gave her a smile equal parts sheepish embarrassment and pleasure. He stepped into the room, giving it a good once over, half-listening as Janet continued, "Now, all of the products you should need are on those shelves along the wall." She pointed at the bottles on the far end, nearest the head of the massage table. "That’s our newest lotion and it’s very popular with the guests, though many of them will still request their old favorites. In the corner, you have a CD player if the guests would like to hear some soothing music while they wait, CDs are in the cabinet beneath it, and the clean robes are kept in the closet. You can just deposit the used ones into the bins in the corner.

"Your first appointment is at twelve, so you should have plenty of time to get settled in."

"Oh, definitely, plenty of time."

"If you need anything, just let me, or one of the other masseurs know. We’ll be happy to help you with anything you need to help make you feel at home." She smiled one last time and he returned the gesture.

"Great, that sounds perfect, thanks. I’ll let you know if I think of anything." She closed the door behind her as she exited and he turned back to the room, rubbing his hands together. Now he was cooking with fire.

Since regular investigation hadn’t been paying off, this was the next best option. Where better to find the solution to the problem than in the midst of the spa currently falling victim? He was bound to see something. Then he could solve the case, please the Chief, and get back to his life.

He moved over to the shelf, picking up a bottle and sniffing. His eyes widened. No wonder the customers liked this new stuff, it smelled _great_. Squirting a big glob of it into his hands, he started rubbing it in, deciding now was as good a time as any to start working on his silky smooth masseur’s hands. He hissed as the still healing cut on his hand stung, rubbing his hand over it until it faded. He’d have to remember to wear gloves. Holding his hands out in front of him, he grinned. They already felt softer. He’d have to talk to Juliet after this was over and see what she thought of these babies.

He shook his head. Now wasn’t the time for that though. Now was the time for investigation. Moving to the door, he peeked out into the hallway.

First stop: the break room.

~ * * * ~

Gus kept his head down as he moved through the police station, eyes scouring back and forth as he walked. It probably looked ridiculously suspicious, but he didn’t really care as long as it meant he didn’t run into Shawn. Fortunately, Shawn didn’t appear to be at the station today. He made it to Juliet’s desk with no trouble.

She glanced up, probably catching his approach out of her peripheral and looked at him in surprise. "Gus, what are you doing here?" Looking around, he pulled up a nearby chair and sat down, leaning in.

"Has Shawn come to you about anymore of these make-it-up-to-you events?"

Juliet shook her head. "No, why? Did something happen?"

"No, no, it’s nothing like that. It’s just…well, I know he means well and I really appreciate what he’s trying to do, but on top of the whole thing with the Chief and the case, I think he’s pulling himself in too many directions," he explained, keeping his voice low.

Juliet nodded knowingly. "You’re worried about him."

Gus rolled his eyes. "When am I not worried about that idiot?"

She smiled. "He’s really set on making this up to you though."

Gus nodded, pursing his lips. "I know. That’s part of the problem. I mean, I appreciate all the gestures and things, but I told him we were even and I don’t think he really even heard me. He’s too focused on making it up to me now."

"For a man who seems to have so many trains of thought, he certainly has a one-track mind," Juliet said wryly.

"You’re telling me."

"So what can I do to help? You want me to chain him to a desk?" she joked.

"Tempting as that is, no, just, if he calls you, or comes by for more advice, just tell him I’ve forgiven him and that we’re good again. Anything that’ll get him to slow down. It’s only fun to see him killing himself for me for so long."

Juliet grinned and patted his arm. "Of course I will, Gus, no problem."

"Thanks, Juliet," he said gratefully. At that moment, Lassiter chose to make an entrance.

"Guster, what are you doing here?" He turned, looking around suspiciously. "And where’s Spencer?"

"It’s none of your business, Detective," Gus said loftily, getting to his feet. "And for your information, Shawn and I aren’t always together."

"Yeah, but one’s never far behind," he muttered darkly, eyes still scanning the hall for any sign of the fake psychic.

Gus ignored him and tipped his head at Juliet. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

She smiled. "My pleasure. See you later, Gus."

"See you." He waved and headed off down the hallway, Lassiter’s wary gaze pinned to his back. When he was gone, he looked to Juliet and said, "The hell, O’Hara? Did you recently change your name to Maury or what?"

Juliet rolled her eyes.

~ * * * ~

The break room had been a bust.

The worst things he’d discovered in there had been an expired box of Ritz Crackers in the cabinet, and a strange-smelling, but not wholly unappetizing-looking Tupperware of tuna fish salad.  
  
What he really needed was something to connect to the other salons, some reason for them to be targeted that would scream the name of the perpetrator, or, even better, a common person who had access to all the salons and masseurs involved, and a nice neat motive for attacking them.  Unfortunately, he doubted that Tuna Salad Surprise was going to stand up in a court of law as corroborating evidence.  He'd have to keep looking.  
  
His hands were feeling a little bit dry after his search, so he returned to his room to reapply, ignoring the sting. Ooh, _yeah_. Silky smooth. Now he could either sneak into the sick masseurs’ room, or he could go scavenging in the closet.

He staged a quick mental debate over the merits of both options, and then finally left it up to a good old-fashioned rock-paper-scissors duel. Paper won, which meant, off to the closet!

~ * * * ~

"Detectives!"

Both Juliet and Lassiter straightened sharply at Karen’s bark, Lassiter calling back crisply, "Yes, Chief?"

Karen’s face was set in a grim mask, eyes still ringed with dark circles and her usually well-kept hair mussed. "One of our sick masseurs just took a turn for the worst, I want you to get a hold of Mr. Spencer and get him over there as soon as possible for a reading."

Lassiter’s lips tightened, but if he had any reservations, he didn’t mention them. "Yes, Chief."

She nodded brusquely and disappeared back into the office.

Lassiter grimaced as he turned back to Juliet. "That woman needs to get some sleep."

Juliet sighed, nodding her agreement. "I think we could all use some sleep. Let’s see if we can find Shawn."

"You should just call his cell phone first," Lassiter told her as she brought her phone to her ear. She rolled her eyes and waved her hand to shush him. He made a face at her. "Hi, Shawn, this is Juliet. The Chief needs you to come down to the hospital and do a reading as soon as you can, one of the masseurs took a turn for the worst. Give me a call as soon as you can. Thanks, bye."

"Told you," Lassiter muttered and she flashed an annoyed look in his direction before refocusing on the phone against her ear.

~ * * * ~

Shawn stood in the supply closet, his brain whirring as it tried to process what he was seeing.  
  
The closet was full of shelves, floor to ceiling, lining three of the four walls of the room. Bottles of lotions, crèmes, body butters, and oils and other applications were to the right, neat little blocks of tubes and bottles stacked several layers deep, with printed labels on the shelf with information about the product. They seemed to be grouped first by recommended usage, then by type of substance, then by alphabetical order.  
  
It was all very OCD, he thought with a tilt of his head, a smile, and a soft snort.  
  
And about half of them were possible suspects for the poison by virtue of being used at the other spas. But nothing immediately jumped out at him here so he kept looking.  
  
The back shelf was full of other disposable items that were not perishables like gloves, paper liners, eye masks, applicators, etc.  These were simply ordered by type and then alphabetical order by product name.  Nothing jumped out at him here, either, but then he hadn't expected to find his culprit on these shelves. All of the suspects here had been eliminated by the CSU geeks by virtue of also being used by hospitals and other health care facilities and then matching batches.  If any of these were at fault it wouldn't be just masseurs sick.  
  
The left side of the room had some non-disposables, like the heating stones and the massage heads for some of the electronic helpers, and the non-salon usage perishables.  The rest of the shelves here were filled with tiny bottles that matched the ones across the room and organized in much the same way.  These were either given out in the goody bags that accompanied some of the packages, or purchased outright for home usage.  
  
Since no clients had reported illness, or at least none that they knew of anyway, it was a pretty safe assumption that anything on this shelf was also not suspect.  
  
All of which was already known and hadn't narrowed things down to a single product.  
  
He rubbed his forehead, which was starting to ache from the strain, trying to fit the pieces together. He was so close. He had to be.  
  
He turned back to the first shelf and began looking more closely at the labels.  
  
Product name, usage, supplier, product code . . . Nothing really useful there.  
  
He picked up a bottle and uncapped it, sniffing as he looked the bottle over more closely.  The usual warnings, directions, product claims were all there as well as-  
  
He frowned.  There was a date stamped on the bottom of the bottle.  Production date?  
  
He picked up another bottle from the back and saw it was much newer.  
  
So they rotated their stock.  That was good.  Most of this stuff had to have a use by date.  
  
Was that it?  Was someone using old stock and it had gone bad instead of losing effectiveness?  But these places had to go through most of this stuff fairly quickly.  Plus it would mean that every salon was doing the same thing and not tossing out their old stock.  
  
Unless someone had mislabeled the bottles, someone who _wanted_ old stock to be used.  
  
Okay, that narrowed it down to a supplier if it was true.  
  
And it might narrow down the potential killer product list too.  It had to be something produced _before_ the first masseur got sick.  
  
He started checking bottle dates, a few from each product.  It wasn't narrowing down the list _that_ much since most of these apparently had a long shelf life or weren't that popular, but it was eliminating a few suspects.

A moment later he nearly dropped the two bottles he was checking, the phone in his pocket ringing loudly in the small space. "I have got to figure out how to put this thing on vibrate!" he hissed and yanked the phone out of his pocket, snapping it open. "Hello?"

"Shawn! Hi, it’s Juliet. I know you probably really don’t want to hear this, but one of the sick masseurs just took a turn for the worst and the Chief would like you to come down to the hospital and do a reading."

Shawn kneaded at his forehead with his fingers. "Uh—Jules, as much as I would love to do that—I’m kind of in the middle of something right now," he said, pulling another bottle down and checking the date.  He was on the right track, he knew it.  He didn't have all the answers, but this felt right.

Juliet sighed in exasperation. "Shawn, you know how the Chief has been the last few weeks," she said in a low voice. "If you just go and get it over with—"

"No, no, not like that Jules. I’m working an angle of the case. I can’t do it right now," he whispered, ducking into a corner as a pair of footsteps approached.

"What? You’re working an angle of the case? What does that mean?"

He heard Lassiter demanding furiously in the background, "’Working another angle’, what the hell does that mean?"

Shawn didn’t answer as the door had creaked open. A hand slipped inside, flipping off the light switch and then the door closed again, leaving him in darkness.

"Shawn?"

"Yeah, Jules," he whispered. "Just tell the Chief I’m working on it, and I’ll talk to you later."

"Wait, Shawn—what kind of angle?"

Absently, he flipped the phone shut and powered it off before slipping it back into his pocket. Rubbing his forehead again, he gazed through the darkness to where the bottles and tubes sat. Something…

~ * * * ~

A half an hour later he was sliding freshly relotioned hands into a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at the woman lying on the table in front of him and said apologetically, "I’m sorry about the gloves but I cut myself awhile back and you can never be too careful."

She smiled sleepily at him. "It’s no trouble. I’ll probably fall asleep and miss most of it anyway."

"Well, relaxation is exactly what we’re going for, so you do just that."

His client just smiled and nodded lazily, her eyes slipping closed again. The second he was sure they were closed, his smile dropped and he rubbed at his forehead with the back of his wrist. The might-be-a-headache was turning into definitely-a-headache-ow. Maybe Gus was right. He was working too hard. Which only made it more important that he finish the job ASAP.

He set to work, using the skills he’d learned that one summer in Vegas.

~ * * * ~

Waving, he watched with Janet as his first satisfied customer practically oozed her way out the door. "Very nicely handled, Mr. Spencer," Janet congratulated him, beaming.

He grinned, but his heart wasn’t really in it. His head was throbbing relentlessly now, with a sharp point of pain directly in between his eyes and it was driving him just about crazy. It was to the point where he was starting to think he was nauseous.

"Mr. Spencer?"

"Huh?" He looked up to see Janet eyeing him with concern. "Mr. Spencer, are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure, I’m fine," he said, waving off her concern. "I just need to take some Tylenol or something. I’ll be fine."

She nodded, though she didn’t look one-hundred percent convinced. "Well, your next appointment is in an hour, so you’d better go take care of yourself."

He nodded and flashed her a smile. "Yeah, thanks, Janet."

Unfortunately, Tylenol was not one of the things he carried in his wallet. He was persistent enough, however, to ignore it and slipped casually into Marguerite’s room as he headed back down the hallway.

It was identical to his own room.

Everything was set up in the exact same way, and if he hadn’t known better, he would have believed it _was_ his own room. He checked through the few cabinets, but nothing looked out of the ordinary. Dammit. He’d really been hoping…

He was standing in the middle of the room, next to the massage table, kneading his temples with his fingers when the door swung open, and Mary, one of the other masseurs poked her head in. "Shawn? The door was open. Did you get lost?"

He blinked at her. "I—uh—no—I was just—" His eyes pinballed around the room, finally landing on the lotion sitting on the shelves. He pointed. "I just need another bottle of the new stuff."

Mary’s face broke into a smile. "Oh, well I can show you where to get that. Come on."

With one last glance around the room, he trailed after her into the hallway. She led him to the closet he’d been creeping around in earlier.

"I’m sure Janet mentioned it, but this is our supply closet, where we keep everything you’ll find in the massage rooms." She pulled open the door and pointed to the boxes he’d been contemplating earlier in the day. "That’s the lotion you’re looking for." She smiled.

His eyebrows rose. "That’s the new lotion? The Peach Pleasure Paradise stuff?"

"Yeah," she grinned. "We’ve some of it for about a month, but for awhile we weren’t using very much of it. Once we started, the clients fell in love with it, and we’ve been using a ton ever since. Hopefully Stefanie will be back with a new box soon, we’re running low."

Shawn pulled a bottle out of the box and stared at it, his head throbbing so fiercely he could feel it in his gut. "Stefanie," he echoed. "Red headed girl?"

Mary looked at him in surprise, "Yes, how did you know?"

"I just solved the case," he muttered and then put a hand over his mouth.

Mary frowned. "Shawn?"

Crap.

He wasn’t just feeling sick.

He was going to _be_ sick.

~ * * * ~

Juliet huffed in frustration as she and Lassiter headed back to the car for the fifth time. "Not that spa either," she said. "Where on earth could he be?"

"How the hell am I supposed to know?" Lassiter demanded.

Shooting a glare over shoulder, she said irritably, "It was a rhetorical question, Carlton."

He rolled his eyes. "Why are we out here chasing that idiot down?"

Her glare turned even more scathing. "Because _Carlton_ , whenever Shawn Spencer says he’s doing a little of his own investigating, there’s always trouble."

Lassiter’s mouth slanted in a grudging expression. "Fine. Where do you want to look next?"

Juliet sighed, her annoyance fading. "Well—"

She was interrupted by the ring of Lassiter’s cell phone. He whipped it out, snapping it to his ear. "This is Detective Lassiter." His already fierce expression darkened even further. "Who was just admitted?" he growled and then a moment later, "Of course he does. Yes, we’ll be right there." The phone shut with a sharp clap in his hand and he turned a long-suffering look on her.

"You were right. Spencer does attract trouble. He’s in the hospital."

Juliet gaped. "He’s _what?_ Why are we still here?!"

~ * * * ~

When they finally reached the room at Santa Barbara Cottage where Shawn had been admitted, the first thing that greeted them was Shawn and Gus’ bickering.

"What is wrong with you, Shawn?" Gus was demanding.

"I was poisoned, that’s what’s wrong with me, Gus."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Gus shot back, annoyed.

Both men turned when they walked in. Shawn was sitting in the bed, kneading at his forehead while Gus stood beside the bed, his arms crossed. Shawn looked more aggravated than he did ill, but that obviously wasn't helping ease Gus' worry.

"Shawn, what on earth happened?" Juliet demanded.

He smiled at her, settling back in the bed. "Jules, Lassie, how nice of you to drop by."

Juliet scowled. "This isn't funny, Shawn. First you tell me you're investigating, and now you show up in the hospital? What is going on?"

"I  _was_ investigating," Shawn said. "I went undercover at the latest spa."

"Are you insane?" Lassiter snapped. "You're a civilian, Spencer, you're not qualified to go undercover like that! You could have been killed!"

"But I wasn't," Shawn pointed out. "And I solved the case."

"That's not the point, Shawn!" Juliet exclaimed.

"Well, we weren't exactly making progress the other way. Now. Would you like to hear what's been making masseurs sick so you can let the doctors know what they're dealing with so they can fix it, or would you like to continue berating me?"

Three irritated gazes pinned him to the bed, but Lassiter, ever job oriented, said, "Fine, tell us what you've got."

Shawn hesitated and said, "Ah, well, actually we have to wait for one more to join our little party. Then we can get started." He grinned sheepishly. "So...how were your days?"

Juliet and Lassiter glowered and Gus merely looked unimpressed. "I can't believe you went and got yourself poisoned, Shawn."

Shawn rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh, like I _knew_ I was going to get poisoned."

"You _are_ psychic, aren't you?" Lassiter said derisively.

"Yeah, well," Shawn waffled. "The spirits don't really take it too well when I shut them down."

"Of course they don't," Lassiter said. Behind him, the door opened and a red headed girl peeked inside. Gus frowned.

"Uh, miss, I think you have the wrong room."

She shook her head. "No, I'm here to see him," she said, pointing at the bed. "Shawn Spencer?"

Shawn beamed at her. "And here's our last party guest! Come on in Stefanie."

She moved into the room, glancing warily around at the others. "This is an interesting method of hitting on a girl that I've never seen before."

Shawn grinned. "I'm not above anything." Lassiter cleared his throat impatiently and Shawn nodded. "Okay, okay. Down to business." He glanced around at each of them and then said, "Okay, let's review what we know.

"One, it's something all of the salons are using.

"Two, it only affects the masseurs.

"Three, either the strength or concentration of our poison has increased since the first victims were exposed."

"Yeah, yeah, great, thanks for the recap, Spencer. Tell us something we don't know."

Shawn gestured to Stefanie. "I asked Stefanie here to help us with this part of the case."

Lassiter proceeded to look incredibly insulted, while Juliet took on a more thoughtful expression. Stefanie flushed. "I don't think I'm really the one you want here—"

Shawn waved a hand. "Don't be ridiculous. The spirits insisted you were our girl. So Stefanie, based on these three things, what would you say our culprit is?"

"But I'm not a CSI, or a cop—"

"No, no, come on, you've seen CSI though. Law and Order? You don't have to be a detective anyway. Just based on those three things, what would you guess is a likely culprit?"

Stefanie was quiet for a moment, contemplating the possibilities. "Well, if only the masseurs are getting sick, then it's got to be something that only they're being exposed to."

"Well, that's just great," Lassiter griped. "That only eliminates everything on our possible cause list. We already eliminated all of the gloves and lotions and other crap that was being used _on_ the clients. So, what, someone's poisoning the water cooler?"

Shawn blinked, his eyes unfocusing as though he hadn't considered that possibility before. A second later he shook his head. "No, no, that's not it, I don't think."

Lassiter's frowned. "I thought you knew."

Shawn suddenly jerked in the bed, throwing himself back against the pillows. "I'm—I'm seeing eucalyptus. And cucumbers. And oatmeal and peaches. Roses. Lilac. Lavender!"

Stefanie cut in, "Those are all ingredients commonly used in products regularly used in spas."

Shawn's eyes snapped open again. "Yes! And pastels! Oh, the pastels! All lined up like little toy soldiers in the war against stress and rough, scaly skin!"

The others exchanged a look and Juliet guessed, "A supply closet?"

"Yes! But wait...there is a code...a secret code...JASON!"

"Bourne?" Lassiter contributed, unimpressed. "You think Matt Damon is out to get revenge for his stolen memories?"

"No..." Shawn said, slowly shaking his head. "The numbers twenty-eight, thirty, and thirty-one come to mind..." He grimaced and put his head in his hands, kneading his temples with his knuckles, which got a frown out of the others.

A second later, an expression of realization flashed across Gus' face and he began scribbling on the folder in his hands. He spun it around to show the others and Shawn grinned at what he saw there. It read: JASONDJFMAMJJ.

Lassiter stared. "So now you've infected Guster?"

Shawn rolled his eyes, but it was Gus who explained. "It's the months of the year. JASON would be July, August, September, October, November. The months are all either twenty-eight, thirty, or thirty-one days long."

Juliet nodded slowly. "Okay...so what does this all have to do with the case?"

"MORSE CODE!" Shawn shouted, "I SEE MORSE CODE!" A second later he winced, his hands going to his temples, putting pressure. Gus' eager expression faded into worry.

"Shawn, are you sure—"

He was ignored, Shawn shaking his head and muttering, "No, sorry. _More_ code. Twenty-eight-S, Zero-Three-O, Zero-Four-O, Zero-Seven-O."

Gus frowned but looked back down at the months he'd written out, writing down the codes as well. Looming over his shoulder, Lassiter snatched the folder away from him. "These correspond to days when people got sick. Well," he said, scanning over them, "give or take a few days in some cases."

Juliet shook her head. "What are these days, Shawn? Do we need to check the visitor's logs?"

But Shawn's attention was focused on Stefanie, a small smirk curving his lips. "No need. Well, okay, for court yeah, you'll probably need to verify it. But the spirits have already done the leg work for you on this one. When you do go check and see who visited the spas on those days you'll find they all have one name in common. Stefanie Winslow."

The others all turned to look at her.

"Those were the days she made her deliveries," Shawn explained. "You see, Stefanie makes her own special blend of soothing lotions and sells them to the salons and spas. But this time she put in a little extra."

A CSI stuck his head in through the doorway, pushing up a pair of black framed glasses. "Uh, actually it wasn't so much what she put in it as how she cooked it up."

"We'll need to look at her notes and procedures, but it looks like during the preparation of this lotion, there's a chemical reaction that creates a substance that's toxic to humans. And it's potency only grows the longer it has to set."

Again, the others turned to look at Stefanie.

She looked completely floored. "But—I didn't...I wasn't trying... It's just supposed to help them relax more!"

Lassiter pulled his cuffs off of his belt, ignoring Stefanie's near-hysterical babbling.

Juliet moved toward the CSI. "How did this happen? I don't understand why the spas didn't notice."

He shrugged. "She's been a supplier for awhile now. This was a new product for her, but it's considered a cosmetic, so it's not required to get FDA approval before going on the market as long as it doesn't contain certain color additives or prohibited substances. It doesn't. It looks like it was just the way the ingredients reacted together and the way she prepared them that created our poison. We'll know more after we get a hold of her materials."

"I don't get it though," Gus said. "Why did she do it?"

Shawn shook his head, sinking back into his pillows, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't think she meant to."

Lassiter stared at him incredulously. "You're buying this?" He pointed to the tears now crawling down Stefanie's face.

"I'm not getting any malicious vibes from her Lassie. I think it was just an accident."

"Well it's still manslaughter," Lassiter said and  Stefanie let out a choking sob. Making a face, Lassiter turned her toward the door. "Let's go."

Shawn closed his eyes, massaging his temple and Juliet, stepped closer, eyeing him worriedly. "Are you going to be okay, Shawn?"

"Yeah," Gus said, "you never answered me. You were exposed to whatever this toxin is--"

"I'll be fine," Shawn said. "I wasn't exposed very long and when I realized what it was, I came here and they scrubbed me clean." He held up his hands, showing them the inflamed cut on the side of the right. "I only threw up twice," he said brightly. "The doctor said the not-throwing-up was a good sign, since the rest of the victims kept throwing up and then got stomach pain." He shrugged. "Now that they know what it is, they'll be able to figure out how to deal with it, but I'll probably be out of here way before that. I wasn't exposed long enough to need treatment. They're just keeping me overnight for observation, but, seriously dude. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, sure," Gus said, obviously dubious. "I'll believe that when you're actually out of here. And you'd better listen to the doctor, or I'll kill you, Shawn."

He grinned, eyes closing again.

Juliet put a hand to Gus' elbow. "Maybe we should go and let him rest."

Gus sighed and nodded, "Yeah. He's acting stupid but he looks exhausted."

Juliet smiled reassuringly and drew him along with her. "Come on. We'll see you later, okay, Shawn?"

His eyes fluttered open, "Hey, wait a second, Jules. Come’re. Touch my hands." Juliet shot him a scathing look and he exclaimed, "No, seriously! If this stuff weren’t poison, it would sell like hotcakes! My hands are like silk! Like velvet! Like a _baby’s bottom!_ " When the door closed firmly behind Juliet, he mused, "Maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say."

~ * * * ~ 

A knock on the door made Karen look up from the file she was reading.

Her eyelids fluttered briefly as her expression closed off at the sight of her visitor.

"Shawn," she said in as neutral a tone as she could manage. Not that she was mad. Far from it. She was embarrassed and ashamed more than anything.

But she was also a grown woman and more than capable of admitting she made mistakes and fixing them.

"Chief," Shawn said as he entered, closing the door behind himself. His usual flair was nowhere to be seen and she wondered how much of that was due to his getting sick.

"Mr. Spencer, should you be here? I thought you were-"

"I'm fine," he said, easing into the chair in front of her desk. "I was actually released yesterday. Shouldn't show any lingering effects."

"That's good. I wasn't happy to hear about your little stunt-"

Shawn held up a hand.

"I came to apologize, Chief."

Karen pulled back slightly at that. "Apologize for what, Mr. Spencer?"

He shrugged and looked around the office, quite obviously uncomfortable with this, but determined to see it through. "I said some things I shouldn't have and acted in a way that is . . . unbecoming a professional and an adult."

Karen's eyebrows were steadily crawling their way up her forehead at his words. She waited another moment, then they crashed down, meeting just above her nose.

"Did your father put you up to this?"

Shawn laughed, genuinely amused it seemed, as he leaned back in his seat.

"No," he said. Then his eyes slid sideways briefly and he shrugged. "Gus might have had something to do with it, but . . ."

She smiled and nodded.

"I see. Well, I appreciate your apology and I'd like to offer one of my own."

Shawn's head tilted slightly in question.

"While the way you said them might not have been the most professional, your words were not unjustified. We do sometimes take you for granted, Mr. Spencer. Especially on this case. You are not one of my officers and sometimes . . ." She half-shrugged. "I forget that. You are very valuable to us and I would hate to see you go, however, it is your choice and I will respect that if you decide, at this time or in the future, to relocate or retire."

Shawn grinned. "Oh I wouldn't worry about that, Chief," he said as he stood. "I think I'll be here for some time."

"And we'll be glad to have your assistance in the future, I'm sure."

He started to walk out and she stopped him, "Oh and, Mr. Spencer?"

"Yes, Chief?" he said, turning back.

"If you _ever_ go undercover like that again, into an unknown, but dangerous situation and without keeping me apprised of your plans, I just might grant your wish and give you a badge." Her sharklike grin indicated this would not be a good thing.

He nodded. "I'll, uh, I'll keep that in mind, Chief. Thanks."

With that he scooted out the door quickly before she could add anything else.

Karen chuckled softly and went back to her work, feeling considerably better.

~ * * * ~

"Spas make me squicky," Shawn said, pulling an enormous fluffy white robe more snugly around his figure.

Gus raised an eyebrow, his own robe comfortably and loosely wrapped around his body. "’Squicky’, Shawn? Really?"

"What? It’s accurate! This is totally creepy, dude," Shawn said, glancing around the room at the other robe-clad people around them. "We’re all naked under these things!"

"Then what are you doing here, Shawn? You didn’t have to come."

"Dude, after the last two months, naked or not, I need a massage. I think the muscles in my back are petrifying."

Gus elbowed him in the ribs. "I’m glad we finally got to do something together."

Shawn rolled his eyes, shifting uncomfortably. "Yeah, yeah, don’t get all girly on me."

"Hey," Gus said, smacking him in the arm. "I’m serious. And next time you intend to do something as stupid as going undercover as someone who’s supposed to get _poisoned_ , you sure as hell better tell me. We’re partners, Shawn, and you’d better treat me like one. That means asking—not telling me—when you need help and keeping me informed. Deal?"

Shawn held out a hand. "Deal."

Gus made a fist and the two fist bumped, sharing a grin.

They heard a ruckus at the door and looked up to see Juliet and Lassiter come through the door, both sporting bright red blushes and fluffy white robes. Shawn groaned. "Oh, come on! No cases! How hard is this?"

Lassiter shot him a dirty look, the red on his cheeks only deepening. "We’re not here for _you_ , Spencer. If we’d known you were going to be here, we would have requested somewhere else."

Juliet smiled, waving a little at Gus. "We’re actually here because the Chief said we needed to relax after that last case. The mayor was so grateful the case got solved that he arranged this for us."

Gus could no longer stifle a snort of laughter.

Shawn shot a dirty look at him and then shook his head. Smiling at Lassiter and Juliet, he waved at the empty seats beside them. "Would you like to join us, Detectives? I think we’re going to have a little party here."

Juliet grinned and flounced happily into the seat next to Gus, leaving Lassiter to sit stiffly beside Shawn. "No one will ever hear a word about this, Spencer," he grit.

Shawn snorted. "Not from me."


End file.
